The Wings of Time
by Faoin
Summary: Granger wasn't particularly excited with her parent's vacations arrangements. Seriously what is so great about the Stonehenge? Clearly, she didn't expect what the ritual stones had prepared for her; a prank in time that sends our heroine to find love...
1. Delerium

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: A BIG THANKS TO MY DEAR BETA Autumn Ivy WHO HAS REVIEWED AND ADDED HER AWESOME WRITING SKILLS AND IDEAS TO THE STORY. **

**WINGS OF TIME IS CURRENTLY BEING REVISED. I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS VERSION BEST. ALSO DON'T FORGET TO VISIT HER PAGE AND READ HER STORIES /.**

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**DELERIUM**

* * *

She needed to get away from the wizarding world, if only for a moment. Guilt accompanied her with every passing moment she spent with her parents, knowing shots were being fired, real shots, and that she had fired shots... The feelings of guilt would not leave. Something would have to be done to protect her parents and soon. Although she already knew what had to be done, he had told her it would be the only way to ensure their safety; she just didn't want to do it. Right now she wanted to be with her parents, one last time - whether it was greedy of her or not.

There were so many things that she had to say goodbye to. A plan was already set in place to ensure that he parents would be safe. They didn't know about it yet, there was no need to alarm them quite so soon. She knew that it was selfish of her to be staying with her parents and that she should just get it over and done with. An Order member was watching her house, day and night, and she knew that the Order member had better things to do. Guilt again. But this could be her last time and that was the rationalization that she used, over and over again.

She walked down her street, for the last time perhaps, retracing all the old memories. She careful reviewed the memories, organizing them and filing them away in an orderly manner, carefully building a defense around her mind. She could not resist building her own, rather abstract, library of memories. It was easy to conjure the picture of the library, particularly the one at Hogwarts, and organize her memories around it. Every memory here was precious, filled with happiness. For that reason, they had to be carefully guarded. Occlumency wasn't the easiest art to learn and she didn't have years to master the art, she only had now. Then it was on to learning how to duel. Another art that took years to master, yet she only had a year or less to learn it. There was so much to be done and so little time to do it and it was all too easy for her to start feeling hopeless under the amount of pressure put upon her. But she remembered his words: look at the whole in pieces, then look at the pieces one by one, and then start your work at the piece you can get done now.

She stopped at a house near the end of the street, taking in all the differences between now and years prior. An old man used to live there. He had been good friends with her parents and had spent a great deal of time watching her when she had been a child. As a child, she had been difficult, to say the least of it. Babysitters and people working at daycare centers told her parents that she was, in so many words, a horrid child. Eventually, her parents had come to rely on the old man to take care of her during the day. He hadn't minded, all of his children were grown and lived far away. Up until her second year of school, they had always spent the holidays with him.

The man had moved away to be nearer to his family, after her second year at school. She still kept in touch with him, although she had her parents mail all her letters to him. It would be problematic to explain the whole 'I am going to a school for witches and wizards' despite the fact that he had been present for many instances of her 'baby magic.' She felt bad about keeping the truth from him, but lying had become a necessary part of life lately. She lied to everyone it seemed. It used to bother her quite a bit, but as time went by it bothered her less and less. Lying made her life manageable, both at home and at school. There were things about her life that her parents, Harry, Ron, Ginny, or anyone else did not need to know.

"You always have the tendency to think too much Hermione; it's why you don't have any fun in life." A voice she recognized spoke from behind.

She whirled around, and retorted almost before she thought better, "I don't think that our definitions of fun are quite congruent."

"But perhaps they could be parallel." The old man smiled, his eyes sparkled such that they would rival even Albus Dumbledore's. "I did have plans tonight, pizza, chocolate, movie; silent reverie isn't included in this plan tonight."

She smiled. "It has been too long. And your plan sounds wonderful. Thank you for coming all this way to see me. I am sorry my parents couldn't be here this evening, they had a dental conference."

"Oh, you," The old man took her hand and they started to head towards her house together, "I'm not here to see your parents. After your last letter, how could I not come and see you?"

"Things are much better now at school," It had been a moment of weakness on her part, hinting that something was less than perfect at school. "The teacher was fired and everything is better now."

A sigh escaped the man's lips and Hermione knew that he wasn't convinced by her lie. He was much harder to lie to because he knew her too well, despite the fact that he did not know about her magic. After all the lying that she had done at school, it should have come naturally. But around him, all the work that she had done to conceal the truth was going to come undone. There was no way she could come completely clean with the man, tell him about the rather minor fact that she was a witch and was attending a school of witchcraft and wizardry.

"When did you start lying to me Hermione? Tell me the truth, what is wrong? I am sensing that this is something more than the usual teenage angst centered on some boy or clique-ish rivalry. As the responsible adult, I must ask. I know that you don't always tell your parents the whole truth."

They had reached the house; she had hoped that her parents were still around. She could use them as a way to distract the man from the current topic of conversation. But they weren't. She was faced with the unsettling truth that she wanted to come clean to her old friend, more than anything else. But she couldn't, if she told him anything, he could be caught in the crossfire, if they saw him here tonight he could be caught in the crossfire; there was just no way out of it. No way out that would make her feel better at the end.

"There are just a lot of tests coming up right now..." she started.

"I see that I am going to have to do this the hard way, Quid Pro Quo?"

"What?" She recognized the term from Silence of the Lambs, not necessarily a movie that you would expect to watch with your parents, but it was one of her mother's favorite films.

"Oh you know this game, I tell you something and you tell me something, but after we get pizza. My kids will never let me get it when they are around, they say it is bad for my heart or cholesterol or whatnot."

Hearing him say that gave Hermione hope that they could just do well and avoid the subject for the entire night, if she could keep the conversation rolling in the direction that she wanted it to. And over the next few hours, the world became a blur of pizza, popcorn, chocolate, and movies. He had brought the Camelot, she had insisted upon Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Both the movies had a particular relevant ring to them, and she found herself looking a bit closer at the images, thinking a bit harder about the messages that the film-makers were trying to send. Even through this, she kept a close eye on the topic, talking always about the movies and the food and never veering off towards anything personal. But eventually conversation just seemed to leave her and the room, the couch, and the comfort of being home became too much and she drifted off to sleep while the movie was still playing.

* * *

She had been nervous talking to him. It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to him; the topic that he had picked was decidedly related to school. Tonight was a risky venture, he had an appointment with both her and with... whatever that guys name was. Decidedly, there was a hint of guilt in his actions; he could not think of Hermione simply as a means to an end, she was just simply too dear to him. But he needed to think of her as a means to an end, distance himself from her, if he could continue with his plan. Dumbledore had his plan and he had his. Both were cruel plans. Both had their prices and he was willing to take the gamble that his plan would come out with the better results, despite the high price.

It was a small wonder in his mind as to which plan would be more risky: his was by a long shot. But the risks that his plan contained yielded better results in the end. Dumbledore's was just so short term. It only looked at the current problem of things, not that he blamed the man. Dumbledore didn't have the benefit of a long term view, despite him being over a hundred years old. His plan left him with a bad taste in his mouth; it leaned to much towards his other tendencies, the tendencies that she, that woman, had always hated. But they were as much a part of him as any other tendency and ultimately, he couldn't keep that part of him suppressed forever. Light needed darkness as much as darkness needed light, it was a fact that any good lightworker hated to acknowledge. Working with the darker side of things always carried a risk, a risk that was considerably more obvious than the risk associated with working with the opposite end of the things carried. But what good thing, what worthy thing, anything really, what came without a high price?

Partway through Camelot, Hermione started to doze, thanks to the sleeping potion he had slipped in her drink. Colorless, tasteless, odorless: with Snape as a potions teacher he had to be careful to make the sleeping potion that way. Putting that kind of effort into a potion even, since he was flying under the radar, was risky. Living as a cat did have its advantages, he had to acknowledge that, but the hairballs were intolerable. All Hermione needed to do was sleep soundly through the rest of the Camelot, while he slipped out for a short meeting. A lot was due to happen in the next day or two and if all went according to plan, and if she went according to plan, then his plan would be well under way.

He got up slowly and walked towards Hermione and touched her face gently, testing whether or not she was awake. Thankfully, she only shifted her position on the couch, indicating that the potion had taken effect. Not wasting another moment, he headed towards the door, he couldn't risk putting any wards around the place, for risk that a certain someone might catch on to his magical signature and pursue him. He had no doubt that she would be just as passionate in pursuing him as she had in the past. It was crucial that he wasn't caught in the next twenty-four hours or so.

Outside Hermione's home, per his plan, was one of Dumbledore obedient watchdogs. The Order of the Phoenix, a band of rag-tag people whose combined skill and trust in each other did not match the Death Eaters or Voldemort, but whose but whose grasp on sanity surely tipped the balance more in their direction. No one liked or trusted this particular Order Member, Snape he was called, never Severus, even by his peers. All because he dabbled in the dark arts and brewed a fine potion. There might have been the fact that in his younger years he was 'oh-so-good' friends with Lily Potter. Maybe even the fact that perhaps his knowledge of magic outmatched them all. Oh, there was the minor fact that he was a Death Eater and was guilty of killing his share of muggles and wizards, but the information he provided to them was invaluable. The man was fearless, did a job that no one else would do, and they shunned him. It was always one minor fact that defined a man, not the many major facts that made up his life.

Idiots.

He made his way over to Severus, who had cast a slight notice-me-not charm around himself. Severus, ever the good spy, noticed this action. And why should he not? He laughed to himself, without any effort an old man was defying a notice-me-not charm. Not a bit of magic employed to do such.

"I assure you my friend; she will keep well until morning. You need not linger here. Not that you could if you wanted to. Meeting tonight. Change of guard should be here any moment now."

Snape turned around sharply and glared at the old man, causing the old man to smile, and laugh softly, "You take life far to seriously Severus, you never use what time you have been given to be happy, you're so caught up in hating. Just like him, you know, just like Salazar was."

"Obviously not a muggle, like Miss. Granger seems to think." Snape said in a nasty tone of voice.

"I assume you want my name" He would not deny that this sort of taunting was an un-necessary thing, but it was just simply to fun and to tempting.

"You assume wrong. Go away." Severus snapped back.

"My given name or what people call me?" He couldn't help himself. It wasn't as if Snape could actually harm him or whatnot. But a duel outside Hermione's house would be inconvenient.

"Right now my position is to care for her safety, so I am free to extract information out of you any way I see fit."

"My, aren't we of short temper tonight? You could never pronounce my real name, but some people called me Merlin at one point, dear Salazar for one." He dropped the sarcasm in his voice near the end of the sentence, for the sheer effect of it. But he knew that it would do little to help the situation. The shock factor, however, was well worth it.

It was obvious that Snape thought that he was insane, saying things like that. After all, immortality was impossible. Wizards, like humans, could not live forever. But Merlin wasn't entirely a wizard and wasn't that much of a human. He was more of a demon than anything else and it was this that gave him immortality. Muggles had said that he had this trait when they wrote their mythologies about him and they had been correct; wizards had no sense of Christianity and as a result, no belief in demons. Wizards dismissed them as a muggle creation and offered other solutions. But demons existed. Not necessarily in the Christian sense of things, but they did exist.

"I am not amused." Snape started and began to make a move towards ending the whole encounter. A man of short temper indeed.

"I was told to meet a representative in Knockturn Alley, however, since you are here how about you take me instead? I am sure that you have been invited to the meeting." He drawled. "I am expected tonight."

"So you are the one with the proposal. We had no idea that you were so close to Miss. Granger." He drawled.

"In order to pull of this particular move, I have to be close to Miss. Granger. She is a diamond." Then he added, "My that change of guard sure is late and I thought that timeliness was one of the foremost traits in any honest lightworker."

Snape snorted in response to that, a snort that said everything. It was obviously the youngest official member of the order. Nymphadora Tonks, daughter to Andromeda Black, was renowned for not knowing a thing about her family's history, being a metamorphamagus, and a complete klutz. He suspected that there were only two reasons that she had been inducted: being from the Black Family her presence gave them a modicum of credibility and having her against them would be disastrous to say the least. She was an endearing girl, if anything, even if she did have unfortunate taste in men.

A loud crack resounded in the air and a voice called out, a bit too loudly, "Wotcher Snape! Sorry I am late!"

She ran up to them, panting, and carrying a bag of some sort. It looked like it contained fast food and chocolate. "I got help up in a dementor attack and..."

"In line?" Snape snapped.

"Girls gotta eat sometime dontcha know?" She said petulantly. "Who's your friend?"

Snape was about to put in a comment along the lines of 'that is no excuse' when he decided to butt into the conversation. "I am afraid I am a rather new acquaintance of Severus. I have heard of you, Andromeda's daughter isn't it? So nice to finally meet you."

"Oh, uh, pleasure to meet you as well. Um, er... who told you about me?" He inwardly smiled at her reaction, saying that he was a recent acquaintance of Severus basically equated to, in her mind, that he was a Death Eater. Mentioning that he had heard of her and knew her mother, to some extent, increased the nervous reaction.

Purposely ignoring her questions and throwing out a historical bone to bait both of them he replied instead, "You remind me so of your ancestor, Polaris. Have you ever heard of her? She was quite the star back in her days."

He kept his eyes one Snape, watching his reactions as he brought up the largely unknown female Black. History had not been kind to her in the least, barely giving any indication as to what the girl had done. There had been a slight hope that Snape at the very least would have known about her, but seemingly the connection between him and Sirius Black ruined any chances of him actually researching the family and gaining any respect for them. It wasn't even an assumption on his part; there was definable confirmation in Snape black eyes as they took on an even more unfeeling appearance than they normally did. Understandable. But still quite obnoxious. Polaris had been quite a dear girl in the short time that he had known her.

"Sorry no, I don't know a lot of my relatives." The girl shifted nervously at hearing any mention of her relatives. Obviously she had been told of the many evils that her family had committed more recently leaving figures like Polaris long since forgotten and hated. Like many other kind people of any era.

"She married into Slytherin House and was ultimately the cause for the fall of the family. Quite the character."

"As in the Slytherin family? But I thought that no one knew what happened, that Salazar left behind no real heir," Tonks started, nervously. Despite the fact that she was a metamorphamagus her hair remained a mousy brown which was the product of genius of Dumbledore not making her use the talents she had, a poor taste in men, and Dementor Duty.

"You would have liked her. She was a great woman of her time," Giving an ambivalent answer. Not saying another word to Nymphadora, he held out his hand for Snape to take, which he did without hesitation and immediately apparated.

He didn't need darling Voldie to tell him where he was hiding, anyone keen at sensing where magic points lay would figure it out. However Salazar's art was apparently lost on his own descendent who despite any claimed inclinations at subtlety, had a rather large flair for the dramatic. A close study of Snape hinted that he had at least had heard of this particular art, an art of which Salazar had been famous for back in his day rather than the art that he was famous for in the present day. Parselmouth indeed. People were so bland in these modern days.

Snape made no comment as they moved towards the part of Malfoy Manor, the pinnacle of purebloodness. A notion to which every stone, leaf, and speck of dirt in the manner paid honest tribute to. He hadn't actually seen Salazar's descendent in person before or after the radical transformation he had gone through. When he caught his first sight of what could only be called a hideous creature, he bit back a curse to kill it. Despite the fact that he knew that Snape was watching his mind looking for information as to who he was, even in light of the fact that he had told Snape who he was, there was just no holding back an image of Salazar the person. No image remained of the founders, no descriptions, just their school remained. Snape had no way of knowing what he saw in his mind, who he saw; the most controversial man in all the era's of wizarding history. A man who had been quite the man of his time in one sense and quite forward thinking in another sense. Held back only by grief.

He shifted his appearance only slightly, in an effort to hide his grief and anger, a habit that he would do well to break. Right now he needed to be the merciless chameleon. Right now he needed to remember why he was doing what he was doing. Playing the game meant betting his life and the lives of everyone else. Taking one more glance at Snape he stepped out onto the stage.

* * *

The man was filled with anger directed towards the Dark Lord, although Snape could not figure out why this was. The man was not good at holding back his emotions. They were easily readable and perfectly contradictable. A mire of love, hate, and sadness that were plaited together almost too seamlessly. It did not seem directed towards the Dark Lord, merely flowing around him gently and then angrily flowing towards something else far away from him. An interesting reaction to someone so close to Miss Granger.

Trying into his mind gave him nothing; there were just images of trees, darkness, and the occasional flash of bright blue eyes and red hair. The image seemed to play heavily on his mind and hard a large amount of conflicting emotions associated with it. Beyond that mire of emotions and images of blue eyes and red hair, that bore an almost eerie resemblance to Ronald Weasley, there was nothing useful to be gleaned from his mind. And, from the look that the Dark Lord was wearing, it seems that he was getting the same results as he was. Which could mean nothing good if even the Dark Lord could get nothing from this mans mind. Snape bit down on his lip, drawing blood, and wondered quite openly in his mind, who exactly this man was. Merlin indeed.

The man was clearly not afraid of the Dark Lord in the least; there was an ever present mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a smirk upon his face that just would not go away even if he tried to conceal it. The man was a chameleon, switching from "kindly grandfatherly mode" to "cunning enemy mode." He seemed completely at ease in the room, filled with the most dangerous people in Briton, and that is what made the tension in the room even greater than what it normally was.

He decided to remain indifferent on the subject of identity right now and focus on the clues that the man offered as to his identity. The man was obviously a powerful wizard and was also much older than he looked. Snape sensed that he had lived most of his life in England, and despite the well off appearance he gave off now, he had come from very humble means. The man seemed well educated and versed in several subjects, both magical and muggle, but where was he trained? Surely a wizard of his caliber would show up on the records for some notable feat or another, as Severus did not recall seeing his face for any feat. Knowing faces, knowing people, that was all part of the game as a double agent. Unless this man was a metamorphamagus, wasn't completely impossible, just highly improbable.

"It is the sad matter, my dear Dark Lord, that you have no mind for strategy." The man said, without any hint of decorum, "Killing Dumbledore using the Malfoy boy would not do you well in the long run. The Malfoy boy is a product of his ancestors, who were cowardly and remain so to this day. You must kill Dumbledore's hope in order to win this war."

This comment would have killed a lesser man, but revealed something about the man in front of him: he was eager to leave the meeting an eager for their help for whatever reason of his own. No one told the Dark Lord his failings and lived to tell the tale of it. But when two red flashes of light left Bellatrix's wand, headed towards the man, they simply hit him and were absorbed. Nothing. No effect. Snape bit down on his lip harder, drawing more blood. The man glanced over at Bellatrix and smiled and from his hand, produced two roses, red as the spell had been, tipped with black.

"For you, dear Lady. It has been so long since I have been thrown a curse, too long. Your generosity does you credit." His tone was nothing but mocking and the roses he conjured floated their way over to Bellatrix and settled hear her hand.

"And what would this hope be?" The Dark Lord ground out, not taking any pains to disguise the displeasure that laced his voice. "Harry Potter?"

"Potter? The boy is a half-wit at best. Weasley, the boy is a disgrace. It is the girl, Hermione that is the hope of Dumbledore. Who else could ignite such a hope? Who else, but a girl that defies all of your philosophies without even taking effort. I have witnessed it so myself, the greatest feat of all muggles past and present."

Effort? Miss Granger put nothing but effort into all of her work. If Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were not her friends, then Snape doubted that the girl would have ever left the library for socialization. Her essays were always filled with careful research, quotes from multiple sources, and carefully drawn conclusions. It was obvious that she read the text multiple times before coming to class, took detailed notes of all the chapters, and took detailed notes of all the teachers' lectures, before and after the class. Her life was filled with her efforts. There was hardly a thing that she did that she did not put effort into, besides her hair. He had long ago concluded that no amount of magic or muggle product could tame that girl's hair, it was a viable rats nest and it was going to stay that way. But on a deep level, Snape suspected that Hermione actually liked her hair the way that it was, rats nest or not. Much like him in a way, despite what other people thought, greasy or not, Snape actually liked his hair just the way that it was.

"Following this train of thought, the next logical step would be to kill Hermione and her family over the summer vacation, while she is still injured and the family is vulnerable. It is the perfect time. It makes the right statement at the right time. Dumbledore will not be able to replace her and it will cause just the right amount of shock to the Potter boy to put him off balance."

It was a brilliant plan. A subtle, brilliant plan. Taking out one piece, visible and yet in the background, would cause everything to topple all at once. Instead of concentrating their efforts in killing Dumbledore, they would leave him to try and pick up the pieces of his strategy that had rested on the trio's shoulders, and they could concentrate their efforts on taking over the ministry. Snape wished that he could see into this mans mind.

The Dark Lord saw the brilliance in the man's plan, fortunately, thought Snape, despite his hurt pride. The man settled down in a chair, facing Bellatrix, smirking, and pretending to flirt with her. "There are just one or two, minor conditions for this particular idea. I will not let it be initiated otherwise."

Silence.

Was this man trying to get himself killed?

"First, I must deal with Hermione, no one is to touch her but myself. Second the people who accompany me, preferably Bellatrix and a companion of her choice, must kill her parents, quickly and painfully before her eyes. And third," he added in a sarcastic tone, "If anyone betrays me, anyone, I will kill them and send them to hell. Otherwise, it's basically a free for all."

Another curse flew the man's way, only to be transformed into a lily. The Dark Lord looked as if he were about to speak when the man said, quietly, "I can send you all to hell if I want. Let's just do what I want. You get all the credit and I get what I want. It is a win-win."

The general reaction to this statement was laughter and fury. Laughter from the Dark Lord, dark laughter, and a general undercurrent of fury from everyone around. Sending people to hell? Hell? Such a place did not exist! The people around jeered and laughed at the man, they had all been taught of the absolute foolishness of the muggle religion. Quite the opposite in his case. His father had been a strict protestant and had forced Severus to learn his bible verse by heart. He knew plenty of the schematics of the muggle afterlife. But the mans confident, smirking appearance still remained and that unnerved Snape the most. He didn't share the views of his comrades on most things, but hell was a concept that he had never really put much thought into. Or the afterlife in general. Death was inevitable in his line of work and he didn't much fancy and didn't have time to spend time contemplating what happened after life. If anything. Just because the Dark Lord had not yet accomplished a feat, did not mean that it could not be done.

If a person wasn't paying close attention, they might not have heard the man whisper, "want a demonstration?"

Snape, keeping his thoughts clear of any opinion one way or the other, watched as the man eyes scanned the room, like a cats eyes looking for a mouse and settled on Dolohov. The smirk disappeared from the man's face and was replaced with a satisfied smile. Dolohov, the man responsible for cursing Hermione at the Department of Mysteries. Hermione was still in bad shape from the curse, Snape knew, and was on a strict regiment of ten potions a day. Snape had seen this man with Hermione, the way that he laughed and pretended to care for her. Or perhaps he really did care for her? Then why? He bit his lip again, and pushed the questions from the forefront of his mind, then cursed himself for developing a nervous tick, a visible nervous tick.

Snape was not a man who liked to question what the particulars of a situation were. He was in the sphere of knowing. He cursed himself for not knowing about this man, for not taking more of an interest in Hermione sooner. Sooner. But when had he had time, he tried to rationalize. But he could name unoccupied hours and minutes from previous years. Truly, he should have been tutoring Hermione in secret since her first year. Then he would know all that he would need to know about her. Then he would know the identity of this man, or at least who Hermione thought he was.

Glancing at the Dark Lord, he noted that his master was studying the man. The Dark Lord had taken note that this man had picked a quarry and was aware of Dolohov's action towards Hermione. Snape almost physically grimaced when the Dark Lord said, "To Hell?"

"Are you ready Dolohov?" The man whispered.

It was a surreal moment, when the man walked over to Dolohov, who through a curse that was turned into a lilac. It was the same curse, Snape noted, that Dolohov had thrown at Hermione. One of his own creations.

"I am disappointed Dolohov, very much so, that curse was based on an older one. The creator was a student of mine. To hard for you cast I guess," the man smirked. "He developed it after his mother was killed by muggles."

"Why the hell should I care? That girl is no more Dumbledore's hope than Harry Potter is the chosen one. Neither of them are a match for our Lord!" Severus found it slightly amusing that the Dark Lord did nothing to stop the man; indeed, he seemed to find it highly entertaining. Despite the man's lack of respect for him, Severus hypothesized that the Dark Lord would enjoy having this man amongst the ranks, if only for the humor that he provided.

"Then I take it you don't know who developed that curse you based yours on. It's not supposed to be cast by a wand and that is your first flaw Dolohov. Idiocy is your second."

Dolohov never had a chance; the man silently cast a curse that seemed to cause extreme amounts of pain while freezing the man in place, a horrid combination of petruficus totalis and crucio. Then the man kissed Dolohov on the forehead and then Dolohov simply disappeared. But there was a black mist that seemed to surround the man for a moment afterwards, and Severus swore he heard faint voices in the background. Perhaps this man had really sent Dolohov to hell, alive. Perhaps it was all an elaborate illusion.

"To hell then and nothing more." His eyes were closed and picked up the lilac and kissed it. "Then I am to assume that my plan is approved, or shall I demonstrate on you, my dear Lord?"

"I should kill you," the Dark Lord drawled. "But I will approve your plan. The mudblood has been allowed to live too long."

Bellatrix glanced around the room, analyzing each of her comrades carefully. Severus wished himself invisible, he had no desire to participate in such an event, but Bellatrix was seemingly clued into the fact that he was a spy. Despite all her insanity, which greatly endeared her to the Dark Lord who saw her as sort of a lovable pet, in some respects she was quite keen and quite sane. In that respect then, Bellatrix greatly unnerved him, her sanity was much worse than her insanity.

"One other thing, before I leave. Severus cannot participate in this. It would compromise his position too much. We are not here to play games nor to prove anyone loyal or disloyal. Simply accomplish my goal."

Upon saying that, the man turned and simply disappeared. No familiar crack that signaled apparition. Nor trace of smoke. Severus wanted to know the mans secrets in earnest now. There was something quite unexplained about him and he was a man of explanations by his very nature and profession as a professor and resident potions master. Participating in the talk and discussions was decidedly difficult that evening and he was glad to leave. Of course, there was always the problem of Wormtail but he was easily dosed with something.

If only Wormtail hadn't been hanging from the ceiling.

* * *

He had left the meeting early enough to ensure that he had time to make a short run to the store. Chocolate was his goal. He had lived in the time before chocolate, it had been a grim time, but once he had been freed from that damned tree it had been the first thing that he had eaten and had become addicted to the substance. Hermione knew this and always sent him some chocolate for Christmas, wizarding chocolate carefully disguised as muggle chocolate. She was being so terribly fake around him and her parents, ever the polite daughter, as if they had been neighbors and had known each other for the course of a day rather than years upon years. But it was something that she had to do. Obviously, someone was training her, and guilting her, into acting in this manner. Snape. It was truly a shame that he had not taken an interest in her sooner, but that was something that couldn't be remedied now, he thought as he walked into the house.

Hermione was still asleep when he got there, although she did show some signs that she might be waking soon. He settled himself back on the chair that he had been sitting on before he had to go to that meeting and started in on the chocolate that he had bought. There was an odd sentiment to the moment in his mind, a trace of emotion that he had fought to suppress. Tomorrow he would engineer the deaths of Hermione's parents and rip her from her life. The world would change. He would never again sit with her in this manner again. A thousand 'if only's' rushed through his mind, but if all the 'if only's' really came true then the world would be in worse shape than it was at present. A wish wasn't going to save the world. Action was.

Action, however, always had a price. In this case, the price was something that he didn't want to let go. It was hard for him to admit to himself how much Hermione actually meant to him. Beyond her rather unique ability for a muggleborn witch, she was the first person in a long time to actually care for him. Once she figured out that it was him who engineered this whole scheme, she would never forgive him. But what was one little loss in a field of so many gains? No matter how many times he pondered over the fact, he could not have both a happy ending for the world and Hermione's friendship. It was vastly unfair in his mind, he who had never really been loved by any person to loose the one piece of love that he had gained in his life. But in this case he had to apply the human's sense of altruism and do what was best for the masses as opposed to what was good for him.

But as the saying went, better to have loved once than to have never loved at all. As Hermione slowly opened her eyes, he was caught in a moment of temporary moment of rage and then had the undeniable urge to cry. He did neither. He sat there and looked impassive, ready for his final peaceful talk with the girl.

"Sorry I nodded off there," she said between yawns, "I guess that I am still tired from school."

"It's alright Hermione; I don't think Camelot is going to change from viewing to viewing. Although this is dependent on whether or not you have a blueray player, because apparently that changes everything!" He quipped.

"So much stuff. It all seems boring. I mean, what real happiness can you get out of having so much stuff? Seems to me like you are emptying a river with buckets. Completely useless." She said, unable to hide the depression in her voice. Philosophizing had that effect on her, the more she thought about the world, and the more she was inclined to hate it.

"You think too much, the happiness that a plasma screen and a blueray player could bring you is by far superior to that of a fulfilling life and deep relationships." He stated the obvious fact. Forgotten by most people.

"The more that I see of this world, the more people that I meet, the more I am dissatisfied with it. Like Elizabeth Bennet." Part of this depressive streak in her voice hinted that the sleeping potion might have softened her mental barriers a bit. If that were the case, then this little meeting between him and her might turn emotion for the both of them. He didn't know if he could handle that.

"What happened to the girl who was going to change the world singlehandedly?" He asked gently.

"What difference can one person make in the world, against to much corruption?" She offered as a way to defense to her rather depressive outlook.

"Butterfly effect. Domino Effect. One or the other. Did we just watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves or was that my imagination? Did you forget the meaning of that movie? He shot back.

"It's a movie, not real life!" She practically screamed.

He folded his hands and rested them neatly on his lap. "What happened at school? What has you so upset?"

"She hated me," Hermione whispered, "she wasn't there too teach us, she was there to slam government rhetoric in our heads. She discriminated against everyone and we didn't learn practically anything useful. The world isn't childproof! And there is a whole government out there still, backing the likes of her." Her voice gradually increased through the course of the rant.

Umbridge. If he hadn't been flying under the radar, then he would have tortured the woman in this world and in hell. People like her were granted a special place in his heart. That woman had always said that sentiments like that were what separated from the normal person. People should be justly tried. But not many judges in this world were actually just and indifferent. If they weren't then who was left to judge?

"Do you want me to sing my reply or should I tell you thee title of the song?" He said. The look that she gave him, one of annoyance mixed with a bit of humor was all that he needed to go ahead and reply, "Waltz for Evita and Che from Evita."

"So you are not quoting the whole movie?"

"I could, but that would be redundant." Hermione glanced at the clock and then at the pizza, taking into consideration the time and the fact that he was supposedly an old man. "I propose we reheat the pizza and put in another movie. I am not tired yet."

Hermione was practically to the kitchen before he finished his sentence, then turned around and said, "Although judging by the bag at your feet I think this is more of an excuse to eat as much chocolate as you can before you have to return to your children."

"You have your addictions and I have mine."

After sorting through all the movies that the Grangers had available, he finally settled on The Three Musketeers, the first one which was a delightful romp and one that Hermione would not object to on sight. He knew of a few movies that would send her into delightful rants about historical accuracy or just the sheer absurdness of it all. He could see one at the top of the stack, a place that was typically reserved for the most beloved movies, that was sure to send Hermione into conniptions. Two words: Romantic Comedy. While The Three Musketeers had both romance and comedy, it was not considered part of the genre. Hermione's mother, however, loved romantic comedies much to her daughter's everlasting disdain.

Before long, Hermione fell asleep and he feigned sleep for a time before getting up and walking around the house. He took in the memory of the house and filed the memories somewhere secure. By the door, cast aside, he noticed a small purple beaded bag. There was a spell on it, and the beginnings of another spell. He picked up the bag and shoved it in his pocket, knowing what he could do with it. There was one thing he could do for Hermione that would surely help her. True, it involved a bit of dishonesty. But for her sake it would be worth it. Intent in mind, he stuffed the bag back into his pocket and closed his eyes. Semi-guiltless sleep was always wonderful.

...

He had left early with barely a mouthful of breakfast. She was an early riser by nature and habit, whether she got eight hours of sleep or not. As for her, she was starving and missed the great big breakfast that was always laid out for them at Hogwarts. Cooking her own just didn't have the appeal. Nevertheless, she made a fair effort; despite her habit of always following a potion to the letter, she loved to experiment in the kitchen. Whereas magical ingredients frequently caused explosions when they were mishandled, messing up on a kitchen creation did not carry such risks. Her parents were due to arrive at any moment, they had hinted at something akin to a surprise, and so she endeavored to make enough for the both of them. Love her mom as she did, she did not love her mothers version of breakfast. Toast was warm not cold, tea and eggs were essential, and it was the most important meal of the day whether she would admit it or not.

"Hermione, we're home," Her mother said as she entered the house.

"I'm in the kitchen," she replied, smiling as she finished serving the food.

Her mother and father walked in the kitchen, showing signs of having gotten up early to make it home at this hour. They did not appear to be tired. Her Father, ever tactful said, "Oh Hermione how lovely, we weren't expecting this. Thank you."

Her mother on the other hand, "Oh sweetie, this is so nice of you, but..."

"I know mother," she drawled, "I am not hungry right now or I don't eat breakfast."

"Now Hermione you know that I have never actually said that," her mother replied, "This is lovely, but we really need to get going we have a trip planned for today."

"Mom, I really can't go on a trip, my shoulder! Dad please you guys," she started.

"Oh Hermione, we are just going to go on a day trip to Stonehenge, honestly you'll be sitting down in the car for most of the day and you won't have to do any heavy lifting," Her father said as he sat down to eat what she had prepared for him.

"I told both of you that I need to stay home and take it easy for a while," she sulked. "Magical injuries are different that normal injuries."

"I thought that you said you fell down a flight of stairs," Her mother started.

"By a stunning spell that the one of the kids in Slytherin came up with, I was lucky not to break my back," Hermione finished as she drank down a large gulp of tea.

"Well then, we always have the options of staying home and watching romantic comedies all day," Her mother smiled, knowing what Hermione's response would be.

"Anything but romantic comedies, let me go get changed," She said as she hurriedly stuffed her last piece of toast with egg in her mouth and downed the last of her tea.

Her mother and father were left in the kitchen laughing at her response; it had really been a hopeless argument from her end from the start. She would do just about anything to avoid watching romantic comedies or for that matter, comedy of any kind. She hurriedly changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a long sleeved top, to cover up the magical injury and put on a well worn pair of tennis shoes. She grabbed her wand, a book for the car, and a sweatshirt just in case she got cold. No one ever got harmed by being too prepared she thought to herself.

Seeing a bit of the countryside, getting away from the city, and generally traveling was something that he parents had always loved. Perhaps if the circumstances were different, she might have enjoyed the trip just a bit more. But with her shoulder still on the mend it made the trip unpleasant and awkward as she had to provide some explanation for the potion that she had to down at periodic times. They were going to see were sights that they had already seen, such as Stonehenge. But it was a welcome distraction at a time where any distraction would be welcome.

She was well versed in the history of Stonehenge; it was a monument that was highly discussed by both muggles and wizards alike. Neither side had much of a clue why the monument was built in the first place or what it was really used for. Although theories were plentiful on both sides, each more unlikely as the next. In one of Professor Babbling's famous digressions, she went into detail about several of the most popular theories about Stonehenge (both muggle and wizard), and proceeded to find the flaws in all of them. The class had ended before she could get to what her theory of Stonehenge. True to her character, she had never returned to the subject and Hermione had never really thought to ask.

The surrounding countryside leading to Stonehenge was truly lovely, green and lush, well kept by the muggles who showed the place off to tourists. Her parents walked slowly, not truly trying to keep up with the tour group, just taking time to enjoy the sites. Hermione was glad of this, her shoulder, while it wasn't in excruciating agony like it had been a few weeks ago, still needed a lot of time to heal. She needed to be cautious, not exert herself too much if it was to heal properly. It didn't hurt to be overly cautious at this point, particularly since Professor Snape was going to continue with their private lessons. She knew that he was going to teach her how to duel properly, and she couldn't be more excited to learn from him. A quick recovery then was necessary.

"What's on your mind deary? You've been so quiet this whole time?" Her mother asked.

Hermione turned to her, and smiled and began to spin her lie, "Oh nothing, just thinking about school. There is so much that I have to do, I have NEWTS coming up next year and those determine so much, everything really. Right down to whom and where I can take an apprenticeship and such."

"Ever the serious student, aren't you? I was rather skeptical at first; I didn't think that magic school would offer you much of a challenge. But it is quite the opposite and you fit in so well there. You have truly found where you belong." Her Father laughed an agreement.

Belong, thought Hermione, yes I do belong there. I have as much of a right to attend that school as any pureblood and I will prove it! She kept her thoughts to herself; speaking such thoughts to her parents would shock them to much. But in order to keep going to school, the events that seemed to happen each year needed to be abridged. But that didn't change the fact that she would have liked to talk to her parents about what was going on, her mother and father had always been kind and understanding. They would have given her good advice, had she reached out her hand. But doing that meant the possibility of them loosing their lives or her not being able to continue her education. She had made the choice in her second year and there was no turning back now, as Professor Snape had so kindly pointed out.

"But your mother is right," her father added, "despite whatever we thought before, you really have found your place in life. Regular school just did not fit you in the least and I can't say that I miss all the calls from your teachers. Although I really wish that wizards would stop using birds to deliver the mail, it gets messy and it is hard to explain to the neighbors."

"I am afraid that there are some things that will never change." Hermione laughed. Developing a different system of mail delivery would be something the wizarding would never do, despite frequent attempts on her part to explain to Ronald how the muggles delivered their mail, she was closer to getting him to understand arithmancy than the muggle mail system.

The tour guide was in sight, Hermione heard him talking to a few of the other members of the group and started to head towards them, eager to hear what the tour guide was saying. In the back of her mind, she started to consider Professor Babbling's lectures on Stonehenge and wondered what the tour guide was going to offer them in the ways of information. She was sure that she knew more than he did at the very least and made a silent promise to herself to not get into a debate with him about the odd monument. No matter how tempting.

"What do the wizards think of Stonehenge? Do they use it to perform rituals?" Her mother whispered to her.

Hermione glanced at her mother and then quickly scanned the group to make sure that no one was watching them before whispering in her mother's ear, "No one really knows why it was built, although they are almost positive Merlin did it before he disappeared."

The tour guides eyes were on them, an unreadable look was on his face as he gestured them foreword to the front of the group. Hermione's parents, with her in tow, made their way to the front of the group, eager to hear this mans lecture on Stonehenge. In one way or another each tour was different, the tour guides always provided the same information, but the way that they did it was always different. That was one reason she liked to travel. There was always something new to learn, she thought as he began his lecture on the monument.

"As the story goes, events took place many centuries ago when the Giants still walked this earth. Merlin himself was present when these stones were brought here with the Giants aid. It was collaboration between three different races: the centaurs, the giants, and Merlin. You see, the Gods were angry and the wizarding folk were losing their abilities as payback. In order to prevent that from happening, Merlin decided to pay a tribute to the Gods by bringing these Stones to this precise place." The tour guide smiled as he told his tale, his unusual bright blue eyes sparkled as he seemed to scan the crowd, and finally stopped until his eyes met her mahogany ones.

Hermione felt a cold shiver run up and down her spine as she took in the man's words inside her head. His eyes sparkled just a bit to much and he seemed ever so slightly tense. But that wasn't what disturbed her, caused her to bite down on her lip and carefully slip her wand from its hidden case in her sleeve. It was the fact that she could not perform legilimency on his mind, a sign that he was not a mere muggle tour guide, but a wizard. It could be one of the Order members in disguise, she tried to tell herself, but that was unlikely. He could be just another random wizard, this job could pay as well as the next, and she tried again. But her mind kept on screaming, Death Eater and she really started to regret not obliviating her parents sooner. But all of this was temporarily wiped from her mind when she heard a loud scream and saw a girl emerge from the stones.

The girl could barely walk and showed signs of being horridly malnourished. A few of the tour group members let out shocked gasped from the back of the group, one even started to head towards the girl but was held back by another member, whispering of a wasting disease the girl might have. Hermione's mother sighed and headed towards the circle before Hermione could stop her from doing anything, swearing underneath her breathe, and Hermione ran after her mother, determined to keep up with her fast pace and prevent any harm from coming to her.

"She's doesn't have a transmittable disease," her mother said in-between fits of profanity, "it's cerebral palsy, I would know it anywhere. That and she is malnourished. Where in the world did she come from?"

"How would you know that?" Hermione panted.

"I considered multiple career options, like any capable woman." Hermione mother snapped back. It was one of her mothers defining traits, one that she had inherited. Her mother had always had a short temper; her father had always been level headed. Once her mother was set off, it was better to ride through the rant.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and saw that the tour guide wasn't heading in her direction, which he would have if he were a Death Eater, but started to herd the tour group away from the circle. Her father, however, stayed behind and started to make his way towards the stones. Closer inspection of the girl revealed that her mother's assessment of her had been correct. The girl's hair was long, matted, and the closest to blue black that Hermione had ever seen on a person and her eyes were a deep amethyst that sparkled and glared at the world. Yet her eyes were not her main feature, it was her scars. There was one long one down the side of her face and another long one that went down the length of her neck and dipped beneath the chemise (a chemise of all things) that she was wearing. Both of them were made by magic and Hermione would bet her teeth that there were more of them covering her body. But those weren't the things that bothered her the most, the question of how she got here and who is she rang true in her mind and temporarily sounded out the notion that there might be a Death Eater in the vicinity.

Until she heard a snap and an explosion in the distance.

It seemed to her that everything happened at once. All of a sudden the tour guide had stunned her father and was making his way towards her. The man shot a spell at her – one that she had never even heard of that was definitely not based on a latin word. She blocked it with a simple protego and screamed at her mother to run. There was still the fact that she was a minor under the wizarding law and she prayed that someone from the ministry would come any time now. She found herself frowning as the man shot another spell at her and again in a strange language and she shot one back to meet the spell, but hers had practically no effect, save to cause a minor explosion. Perhaps it was to keep her from detecting whatever spell he was using but one thing she knew. It was not dark magic. Yet.

But that was nothing. In the distance she heard people screaming and she knew that there were Death Eaters here, carefully disguised, ever so patient, straight from Azkaban Death Eaters. Leading them was Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione knew that she had little, if any chance of survival given her level of training and the wound on her shoulder if backup did not arrive. But it would. It did before. Bellatrix gleefully shot spells at the muggles, causing them to scream in fear and agony. She recognized a few of them, crucio, incendio, avada kedavra to name a few, but there were a few that she didn't. It was hard to keep up with her and duel the tour guide at the same time.

She blocked his spell again and this time narrowed her eyes dangerously as she realized that this man might actually kill everyone once he was done with her. Her mother and the girl behind her screamed loudly as they both ran behind the stones seeking shelter from the spells being fired, despite her urgings that they should just run for it. Hermione's heart sank as she realized that one or both of her parents might die today because of her selfishness. All the attempts she made to stun him didn't even have an effect; he didn't even cast a protection shield or spell. The spell didn't seem to harm him at all and then he did the unexpected, he laughed at her. Her eyes were wide with horror and her heart beat threatened to stop as she came to realize this fact. This man was simply toying with her. She had fought death eaters in the ministry and her stunning spells did work so why weren't they now doing anything now!

"Who are you? What do you want!" she asked while she increased the grip on her wand.

He gave her no answer, except a manic laugh as he shot another spell at her this one was too fast and penetrated her protection shield, hitting her fully on the chest. A small surprise 'Oh' escaped her lips as she felt herself fall back on the ground next to her mother and the strange girl. The spell was spoken silently; a technique that she had yet to encounter thanks to their hodge-podge collection of defense teachers, so she only recognized it after it was cast. Petruficus Totalus. The man walked up to her, levitating her father behind him, and dropped him on the ground beside her. Her mother screamed and threw a rock at the man, which never hit him.

"Why are you doing this?" Her mother screamed.

"It's a calculated move. Hermione didn't tell you she is a key target in the current war? He turned from her mother and yelled in the opposite direction, "Remember Bella darling what we came here for, I am already doing your work for you."

"She didn't tell us," her mother sobbed.

Her mother picked up another stone and threw it at the man, but it turned into a violet. The girl beside her screamed and clutched her mother; an air of wild magic surrounded the girl. Her mother threw another stone at the man, which turned into a violet, and the girl yelled something in an odd sounding form of French. This caused the man to turn around and face them again with an annoyed look on his face.

"Mrs. Granger," the man said in the lightest and merriest of voices, "you are upsetting Paulina. She has a delicate constitution; she doesn't like it when people scream. Please refrain. Or shall I petrify you as well?"

"Considering the circumstances, very easily. Now, be good, or I will kill you and Paulina now." At this statement, her mother cast a glare at Hermione, blaming her for the entire incident and remained silent. Hermione was glad that her father was petrified, or else she would be getting a similar glance from him. If only...

It was another minute or so before Bellatrix arrived at the stone circle, cackling about the muggles that she had killed. Strangely, the woman remained silent and leaned up against the stones. Hermione wished that she could see Bellatrix's face more clearly, see the expression that she was wearing, and hear what she was muttering. But even in Bellatrix's absence from the crowds, you could still hear the screams of muggles. How many Death Eaters were in attendance today, Hermione thought to herself. But she didn't have long to contemplate these questions, for the man grabbed her hair and pulled her towards the alter stone at the center of the circle. If only she could have moved her mouth, she would have screamed in pain and begged him to stop. The ultimate un-Gryffindor act.

He leaned her against the stone and said, "I want you to watch this, as he watched this, and remember what it means and what it feels like. Never forget, for he never forgot either."

Positioned against the alterstone, Hermione could see that Bellatrix was making faces at the man, clearly not happy to be here, and under his command. Near where he had been place, was a small bottle that had smoke coming out of it. The man approached her mother and Paulina and grabbed Paulina's hand, and forced her to walk towards the smoking bottle then threw her on the ground. It was then that two things happened at the same time, as if they had been rehearsed in some sick play. The man turned towards Bellatrix and nodded, Bellatrix smiled and pointed her wand towards her father first and a single green light shot out the wand. An easy, horrific, painless, and fear filled death. Her mother got up and started to run, like Hermione had told her to do earlier, but was felled just as easily.

Hermione strained against the bonds of the man's magic, eager to break free and avenge the death of her parents. The shock from seeing the act almost distracted her from seeing what the man did to Paulina. He took out a silver knife and first cut off a lock of the girls hair and threw it in the bottle, then twisted back her palm and cut a piece of skin off and threw it in the bottle, but it was his last act on Paulina that was the most horrific. Strangely, the girl submitted to these acts, as if it was an everyday occurrence. He paused briefly, and closed his eyes, before stabbing the silver knife into Paulina's eye and gouging it out, then putting the whole of the eyeball into the bottle. Paulina didn't scream, even then, but had a strange look of relief on her face. A silver mist seemed float out from the eye socket and it collected the in the man's hand. After a minute, the mist ceased and Paulina lay still, then the man added the last ingredient to the bottle, the silver mist, and swilled the bottle around three times clockwise.

"Seemed a bit elaborate and un-necessary, why couldn't we just kill her?" Bellatrix snapped.

"I don't remember stating that we would kill her, just get rid of Dumbledore's hope. She is more useful to me alive."

"Then you both will die!" Bellatrix screamed.

She shot the killing curse from her wand with no effort, aimed straight at the man. He though, remained motionless and whirled around to meet the curse and caught it in the palm of his hand and held it there. She shot the killing curse several more times, but they all ended up in the palm of the man's hand. Just who was he really? Hermione thought over and over again, as she tried to blot out the other thought that was circling in her mind 'my parents are dead, my parents are dead because of me.' The man opened his palm and blew what appeared to be green rose petals towards Bellatrix. She fell to the ground before the petals reached her and other people in the distance started to fall to the ground because of the petals. Muggles and Death Eaters alike.

He approached her slowly, a look of sadness and gentleness on his face, a single tear escaping from his eye. The consummate sociopath. He lifted the potion to her mouth and gently poured it in. Despite all appearances and logic that suggested otherwise, there was only a mouthful to swallow. He then tapped her lips three times and stood up and stepped back.

The man seemed to nod and close his eyes as he put his wand away. He then opened his eyes to stare back at her, "You will do." He spoke in once again what she thought to be the deepest but at the same time captivating voice she had ever heard, "The Gods will be pleased this time, achailínmochroí."

Pain filled her entire consciousness as she gasped as a sudden dark purple spell surrounded her. The desire to not see anymore, to shut out the world and the pain, the excruciating pain enveloped her. She finally felt herself hitting something solid before she blackened out.

* * *

She felt dreadful. Her feet were throbbing, her head felt like it had been hammered repeatedly against a stone wall, and she ached all over. To make things worse there was a loud noise nearby that made her head throb even more, they might as well have been clanging a metal pan right next to her ear. She could hear horses and men screaming and then her heart sank when she heard metal clashing against each other. What the hell is going on?

She shut her eyes tighter, wanting to block out the world around her, she felt worse than she did after the department of mysteries. Her head was one thing, but it was her shoulder that hurt most of all, but it wasn't just the one that had been cursed by Dolohov, the other one hurt too, which could only mean that her arm was broken. She shifted her position slightly in an effort to make herself more comfortable and her hand touched fabric and a piece of wood. Her wand. She couldn't even remember what had happened to it during the battle, yet here it was beside her and that bag... she had left it at home on accident. It contained many of her spell books, the ones that were required for school and the ones that she had borrowed from the Black House, amongst other things. She knew that she had not brought the bag with her to Stonehenge, so the man must have gotten it out of her things at home, which meant that he knew where she lived. A thousand questions raced through her mind at once, centering on the question of why the man would leave these items her for her.

Her eyes opened as she felt knew that she must heal the broken arm sooner, rather than later, if she was to get any relief from the pain. Opening her eyes brought her back to the reality that she was in: she remembered the man with the wand and the strange purple spell that she had been hit with and then absolute darkness. But most of all she remembered the deaths of her parents, the death of that strange girl, and that potion that the man had made her drink.

Panic was about to set itself on her when she realized that it was pitch black now and that something was absolutely wrong. Where were her parents and the other muggles? What had the man done with them? The ministry… surely they would have arrived by now and arrested him but that didn't explain why she was still here! But now was not the time to panic. She gritted her teeth together and cast the necessary healing spell on her arm. It took all of her self control not to scream in pain from the spell. It also took all of her self control not to break down crying, but distancing herself from harmful emotion was something that she had learned to do in her third year at Hogwarts.

"Lumos!" She cast as quietly as she could, longing for the ability that the man had displayed. The ability to cast spells silently.

The spell illuminated the area around her in a bright white light. In the distance she could see men fighting and covering their eyes from the shock of seeing such a bright light in the darkness. But a quick scan of the area revealed something; she was no longer at Stonehenge, which begged the question of where exactly was she.

Her head began to hurt even more at the endless thoughts running inside her head. Suddenly her thoughts were the least of her worries as a loud scream startled her from her reverie. All around her people were mounting horses and fighting each other. Men slit each other throats, cut each other limbs off, and screamed in either from pleasure or pain. It was hard to tell which in a battle situation because some people honestly seemed to enjoy it, and with the rush of chemicals that occurred in intense situation such as there, who could really blame them? For a moment she stood there paralyzed, unsure of what to do; everyone there seemed to be locked in battle with someone else and had no time to come chasing after her. This wasn't her battle; there was no reason for her to stay. It could be an illusion since, there was that spell or it must be a dream. She tried to tell herself over and over again, but everything was unfortunately too real, especially when someone's head went flying on the grass and it rolled until it stopped by her left side.

She swallowed dry as her eyes were set on the killer, a black rider in front of her. The rider was dressed in dark robes that appeared to be black and as not wearing a speck of armor like the man he had just beheaded had. Not being intently locked in battle gave him the opportunity to pay attention to her, which lessened her chances of escaping. She felt her heart stop when he jumped off his horse and marched towards her. At that moment, she was thoroughly lost for words even though she knew that she would give him some sort of explanation as to who she was. Above all, she hoped this man wasn't a Death Eater, because if he was then she would surely die. She could not yet see his features as her lumos spell had long since gone out, but all that was forgotten when she was suddenly brutally brought upwards and all of her breath abandoned her when she felt something cold lean against her neck.

"Do not come any closer!" The man that had her shouted.

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as the man seemed as frightened as she was. She didn't understand a single word that had came out of his mouth, although some of the words had sounded somewhat familiar she still could not point out any meaning to them. "P-please…" she attempted in a very frail voice as she tightened her hold on her wand.

The dark cloaked man stopped but Hermione could now look right into his features. His hair was a shocking scarlet and reached well past his shoulders, his eyes reminded her of a deep blue stormy sea, and his skin had a dark olive tone to it. He had a wild look on him as his features were stained with blood. "The girl… is not an acquaintance of mine. She matters not." He spoke in a language that she did not understand, calmly keeping his blue eyes on her.

Her skin prickled as she had the faintest feeling that they were talking about her. "Tell your men to fall back or I'll have her killed! I'll swear by the gods that I will!" the man that held her hostage spoke in a vicious voice.

The red-haired man laughed and said nothing else. The two men seemed to be now having a staring contest and Hermione couldn't help but to shake against her supposedly captor. The dark-cloaked man blinked and then tilted his head to the side and stared back at Hermione and then she followed his gaze to her wand. It seemed like he was challenging her to get rid of the man. Very well. She had no choice.

She closed her eyes and pulled a memory from her library, one that had seemed insignificant at the time that she had filed it, but now was deadly important. Her parents had, in an effort to control her magical outbursts had enrolled her in a karate class. She had learned some basic self defense moves, such as how to throw a person off of your back that was larger than yourself. She reviewed the memory carefully in her mind and adjusted her feet to the necessary position. In one quick movement she threw the man to the ground and jumped away from him, turning her back to the dark cloaked man.

She pointed her wand at the man who had held her captive and yelled, "Reducto!" This sent the man flying backwards.

She whirled around to face the man who cocked an amused brow. He took a step forward and watched as she stumbled back, pointing her wand at him, "Stand back!" she shouted and watched as the man shook his head and spoke back to her. To her horror, she could not grasp a word of what he was saying. It wasn't English and it didn't sound like French or German, a language barrier was not a good thing particularly since she was not versed in translation spells. The battle noise had died down and she noticed that the ones that were still on horses and others on foot were standing very still staring back at her and at the other man who she took it to be their leader. Internally, there was only one thing that she could do, swear vehemently at herself for not learning a simple translation charm.

She watched in horror as the man kept walking toward her. The robes that he wore were of an older fashion, known to be worn around the time of the founders, and she didn't recognize his face from the pictures of known Death Eaters. But it didn't do her any real good to try and identify the man if she couldn't understand a thing that he said. He seemed to think that she was ignoring him or was purposely being rude both of which she wasn't doing. Feeling like a trapped cat she found herself waving her wand, ready to stun the man. Only she was not expecting to see him counter attack her spell with only a wave of his sword.

She gasped loudly and fell on her knees as she stared at the sword bathed in the moonlight. She would recognize that sword anywhere.

Gryffindor's sword.

**Oh fuck**, she thought to herself.


	2. Novus Mundus

**The Wings of Time **

**DISCLAIMER**: Anything related to the amazing Harry Potter's world does not belong to US.

**EDITOR'S NOTE **(Autumn Ivy) - **PLEASE READ!** Thank you for reading this, short note of mine. This fic will include some talk of slavery. I do not endorse these views. I do not endorse slavery of any kind, form, word, or practice. I am thoroughly against it. However, I am writing about a time when slavery was part of the norm for nobles. In order for the character to be written correctly, then I have to write it like this. I will never endorse slavery. It is wrong. But, at the time that I am writing about, it was practiced. There is also a certain amount of violence towards woman. I do not support this. I will never support this. However, at the time, women were treated like this. But keep in mind that through the course of the story, every character has the opportunity to become more enlightened and change his views. Keep in mind that I, the editor, do not support these actions in any way shape or form. Thank you for reading this. On to the fic!

**Novus Mundus**

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The girl reacted with fear when she saw the name written on the sword: Godric Gryffindor and fell to her knees, shaking with fear. He couldn't help but smirk with satisfaction at this reaction; she should rightly acknowledge that he was a much superior fighter to 'Golden Boy' Godric. Godric who didn't follow the rules of engagement, who used the stolen land and the stolen castle to found a school of all things. With two woman. Two women who had butchered their husbands for the pure purpose of gaining their lands and their freedom from the marital state. Why any pureblood family would send their child to that school was beyond him. But many of the pureblood families of the south had sent their children to be fostered at Godric's school. He was to be feared, not Godric. After all, he had successfully stolen Godric's sword right out from under his nose.

With those thoughts in mind, he sheathed the sword that belonged to Godric glanced over his shoulder at his men, who were busy getting the putting the finishing touches on subduing the rebels. Weasleys. Rotten traitors. He knew that Godric was giving them something along the ways of funding, advice, or magic. The fool couldn't be bothered to meet him here on the battlefield. Instead, he sends the Weasleys in his stead. Well, he had a few heads and a few key prisoners, though perhaps not as key as he would have liked, that would be their proof of the clans true loyalty. A third and fourth son and a few half-blood knights were taken prisoner. Their armor and weapons stripped. He could see his men eying various spoils, some of which he would share with them. He personally didn't care much for plate armor, it was far too heavy for his liking and the sword that he had taken from Godric was far superior to any that his knights might possess. His men knew this. As a result, their spoils would be very good; that was unless his useless younger half brother interfered with his plans. Happy men were loyal men.

He could already see his brother scowling, Cormag was apparently as useless on the battlefield as he had predicted. But rules of rank dictated that he was to be the one as opposed to his more competent bastard relations. No matter how much he longed for this fact to be otherwise, he was bound by duty to treat his bastard relations with a different respect that his legitimate relations. There was one thing that worried him a bit, he didn't see the head of a particular half-blood knight and if he was dead then it was up to him to explain why he was dead. Not that Lord Slytherin would have a problem with it, could care less about it, but she would mind. Explaining unfortunate news to her was not something he enjoyed, she always reacted badly. Perhaps categorized as violently. As it was, the amount of explaining he had to do was already stacking up to the levels of obnoxious and that girl, that damn girl, was going to push it well over the edge.

He approached the woman, to get a better look at her. The question of why she was here loomed in his mind, she had fought against the rebels to be sure, but that might have been to garner his favor and save her own neck. The lumos spell she had performed had helped their side to be sure, the rebels had been so shocked by it that he and his men were able to quickly overtake him. Minimum casualties. So it could be a mere coincidence that she was here, but why his scouts or the rebel's scouts didn't find her sooner was beyond him in all respects. Such was her shock that she didn't even move as he made his approach. From a distance, he could tell that she had long, wild, black hair that went well past her waist. A fine asset for a woman. But he couldn't fully tell her eye color, at a distance they looked indistinctly dark, but as he knelt down in front to her to get the best look he could, he could see that those eyes were a deep violet.

Deep violet.

Keeping an impassive face and pretending that he didn't know exactly who she was on sight he said, "Do you recognize this?"

He wasn't expecting a reply in gibberish that sounded much to light to the tongue and far to wordy. It certainly wasn't Welsh, Latin, or Spanish (all of which he was fluent in); the closest it sounded to was a mixture of German and perhaps French. He didn't know quite what it was that the girl was speaking; the only language that she was speaking in, and so he yelled, "Dougal," calling for the convicted scholar that Godric had given him as a present. He then looked back at the girl as recognition lightened up her features, "na Sasanaigh? Sassenach?" He cocked a brow as curiosity was getting the best of him.

"Godric…" she spoke softly, her voice almost to quiet to be heard, "G-g-gryffindor."

He felt his temper rise at the sound of Godric's name, almost as if she was addressing him. Who could confuse him and Godric? It was an irrational feeling of anger: hot, quick, and uncontrollable. He closed the distance between him and the girl and picked her up, staining the white shirt with dirt and blood. The girl was clearly intimidated by the act, and rightfully so. He wanted to break her neck for saying Godric's name to him, but she was far useful to him alive than she was dead. Setting her down with that thought in mind, he settled with slapping her across the face and just about lost it again with the look of hurt and confusion that overtook her features.

"My Lord…" Dougal spoke quietly as he examined the scene. The tension in the air was deadly; the slave knew that any misstep at this point could lead to a much more painful death. "My… lord…" Dougal attempted a second time and he coughed as to clear his throat.

"She spoke Godric's name!" He spat angrily as he turned to face Dougal instead. With a quick movement of his left arm he placed the sword back in its sheath, now completely hidden inside his dark clothing, "She doesn't understand a word that I say." He hissed dangerously and stepped back, "Make her talk Dougal or I swear by the Gods that I will curse her until she learns to speak my language."

Dougal approached the girl slowly, taking in her appearance. She was straight; she was strong, just as he had never thought that she would be. He knew exactly why she was up here, though not in this particular place. Unlike her brother, who felt the need to stay, she had taken the initiative and run away. It made him happy to see her this way. In his one act of defiance to his master, he would not tell Salazar who she was. Not that he had much time to talk as it was.

"Parlez-vous français," Dougal tried, knowing the girl spoke French.

"Oui!" She spoke in an excited tone. "Je m'appelle Hermione. Je suis une sorcière. "

Dougal had to smile when she gave him a name, knowing that her family had actually not given her a name. The Gryffindors were a monstrous family and he had praised the sweet gods above when he had been given as a gift to Lord Salazar. His liege might have a quick temper and had a tendency to be harsh, but he was much better than any of the Gryffindors, although to be completely fair to both sides: not by much. There was a bright look in the girl's eyes, a fire that had not been there before when he had last seen her. It made him so happy to see that at least one member of that family was going to do something, which why he had done what he had done in the first place.

"Que faites-vous ici?" Dougal asked, knowing that time was getting increasingly short for him, but he wanted to get this one answer out of her before his time was up, to sate his own curiosity.

"Je ne suis pas l'ennemi," she replied, "Je suis d'aucune valeur pour vous."

Dougal laughed and coughed up blood then he blinked as his vision became blurrier than before. What a reply to give. He heard her scream just as he began to fall down. It felt good to die, not painful as he had thought it might be. He could die in happiness that his life and his dream weren't completely wasted. Change, you see, was inevitable. Death was proof of that.

"Il est blessé!" The woman screamed as she watched Dougal fall to the ground, "Faites quelque chose pour lui venir en aide! Faites quelque chose pour lui venir en aide! Rapidement, il pourrait mourir!"

Barely able to make out of a word she said, he replied simply in Latin, "Non refert."

When she saw that it was too late for them to do anything for the fallen slave, she contented herself with holding the corpse of the dead slave and crying. It was an unusual act for a person of her rank; surely she knew that he was nothing more than a slave? It wasn't as if they were actually people. Still, the girl cried over the fallen slave, a testament, he supposed to her kindness. He found himself cursing the slave's death, although for an entirely different reason. The slave had spoken French and therefore was the only person in the camp who could communicate with her easily. Latin and Spanish were similar in structure, but communication overall would prove to be difficult. Useless in life, useless in death.

"Oh gods, a woman! I thought that the Weasley's hated woman, why would one be here?" Salazar glanced to his side, seeing his friend leering at the girl. "Rats are better off than Weasley woman."

"Agreed, filthy traitors. Anything I should know about?" he replied, noting the sentiment about the Weasleys.

"Your brother is causing problems. Why did you have to bring him? He is ruining the fun. Aiden is getting ready to curse him, I think he is going to go for impotence this time, and so you may want to go save your brother before things get too complicated." His friend had a bored tone to his voice; they had dealt with this same scenario to many times. He turned his head to face his friend but the action was not reciprocated as his friend's line of vision was distracted. It had been weeks since his friends or his men had to opportunity to have a woman.

"You deal with him. I have bigger things to contend with." Salazar snapped, the last thing he wanted to deal with was his half brother.

"He's your brother. I'm not going to talk to him if I don't have to. Besides, it's just a Weasley female, one of the wives probably. Not much use, they would sooner come after their dogs than their woman." His friend looked at the woman with interest, admiring the ample curves of her body.

"Arcturus," he whispered not wanting anyone to overhear, "she's a Gryffindor, look at the eyes."

"Salazar," Arcturus quipped, "I can't see her eyes, she's crying over a corpse in case you haven't noticed."

"Then look and make sure that she doesn't go anywhere," Salazar snapped as he headed towards his half brother.

His half brother stood there, waiting for Salazar to approach, when it should have been the other way around. He could see Aiden off in the shadows, lurking around some of his men with a dagger in hand. He knew that dagger all to well; it was a gift from his father and was demon made. Despite the fact that his friend had a notoriously choleric temper, he never got that dagger out unless someone did something particularly stupid. Since it was his half brother, he wasn't surprised. His half brother always had a sour feel to him, but obligation called them together more than anything. Most of the time they found ways around obligation. "What do your men think they are doing?"

"Enjoying themselves," he replied.

"They are stealing from father! Those spoils belong to father and you know that! How could you allow this sort of thing to go on, unchecked amongst your ranks like this! "His brother hissed.

"My men are preparing to leave, like they always do. Your men are squabbling. "Salazar smirked, knowing that it annoyed his brother.

"That is not the point and you know it." Cormag stated, obviously not getting the point.

"What you don't understand, my dear half-brother is that happy men are well paid men. Why do you think that all of the men here kiss up to me? They love me. My father might pay the knights well and clothe the slaves well, but I reward the men by giving them the first dibs on the spoils of battle. They know how much they can take. They know I will know if they steal. This ensures everyone's happiness, including fathers. Don't interfere with my command." He said and turned his attention back to the woman.

Cormag grabbed his shoulder, unwilling to let the issue stand at that, and spun Salazar around, "Well I do not approve. Father pays these men well. There is no reason for them to be compensated more than they already are. You are just pouring money down a hole that has already been filled. This has gone on long enough."

Pointing to one of the lower ranked men he spat, "You there, how many people did our forces take down?"

"I do no know the actual numbers my liege, please be so kind as to let me count them for you," the man stuttered.

"How many did Cormag's forces take down?" Salazar asked pointedly.

"They took... a, uh, a fair number." The soldier replied, white as a sheet.

"That is all," Salazar said as he turned to face his brother. "The soldiers take my share of the goods. Everything that I want, I take. Everything I want, I already have. While we are on this subject, who caught the prisoner of high value: me or you?"

"The third and fourth Weasley boys? I would hardly consider them to be of high value. And, if you have failed not notice, brother," Cormag snapped, "The Gryffindors are obviously supporting these people. Look at the quality of the gear and for that matter, the type of magic that was used here. Clear proof that the Gryffindors are inciting this rebellion and we have nothing against them! The house of Gryffindor is known for the battle prowess, how are we supposed to gain a victory against them when the time comes?"

"Oh, I think that I have something against them." Salazar smiled at his brother and looked him square in the eyes. His brother immediately tried to penetrate his shields, to no avail.

"A sword?" his half brother drawled.

"Your powers of observation always astound me. Now, as opposed to quarreling with me, how about you start to organize your men. We need to head home, now. My men are already ready." He said, learning Cormag behind him, fuming.

"I am still telling Father about what you are doing with his goods!" His half brother exclaimed.

Salazar smirked and replied, "I tend to show Lord Slytherin, rather than tell him. It negates the possibility that I am lying."

He turned away from his brother, leaving him there standing alone in the crowd, fuming. This same scene had played out between them more than once, much to Salazar's utter annoyance. He was close to all his bastard relations, even Ciaran, but Cormag... he wasn't quite sure who he should hate more. His legitimate half brother or the woman who made him. Both of them were annoyances that he could not get rid of quickly. Bringing the girl home would only heighten the situation, partially because it was something that Cormag could not turn around and call his achievement. He headed towards the girl with those thoughts in mind, along with the many benefits having her as a prisoner would bring, there were many disadvantages and annoyances that would come along with it.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that while she was crying over the translators death that after "Lord Slytherin" had left he had assigned someone to watch her. Part of her said that it was to make sure that she wouldn't run off. She hoped that wasn't the reason, as she was what he hated the most and was of no real value to him. Well, unless he wanted a detailed account of the future, in English as opposed to Gaelic. But even that rye thought could not bring her mind out of the shock of the situation. Seeing men die before her eyes. It was something that really hadn't happened at the Department of Mysteries, not to this extent. People's heads weren't chopped off their bodies, people weren't hacked to death, swords didn't clang against one another, and people certainly did not let other people to bleed to death. Despite her cries, that man had just stood there and watched as the translator had bled to death. It was barbaric to her. Foreign to her. Even her parent's deaths had been bloodless, but this... she had no words for this. She just could not stop crying over it.

The question of why kept on running through her mind over and over again. She wasn't Harry, she wasn't Ron, and she was simply Hermione. The one in the background that didn't get into trouble. She lifted up her head ever so slightly and saw the head that had rolled beside her. She took a deep breathe in an effort to calm herself and started to straighten herself out and take the surrounding in. It looked like a few prisoners were being rounded up and men were preparing to leave. She could see "Lord Slytherin" arguing with another man. She wondered how far back she had traveled and which Slytherin she was dealing with. During her second year, on their jaunt to figure out who opened the Chamber of Secrets, she had taken a glance at the Slytherin family tree. From what she had seen, at one time, the Slytherins had been quite productive in terms of producing children; the trees that she had seen however, were not completely up to date and had ultimately left her questioning who the heir of Slytherin was. She had about the same luck with the house of Gryffindor.

None of the family trees had included portraits until past the 14th century, which she found rather odd and at the point in time, and highly annoying. If she had seen a portrait, a vague portrait, she could have at least had a shot at recognizing him as opposed to confusing him with Godric Gryffindor. Judging by the robes, it was a fair bet as any that the Slytherin that she was dealing with was Salazar. There was the possibility, a possibility that she was hoping was the case that she was dealing with on of Salazar's descendants as wizarding fashions tended to last. Salazar was a known parseltongue, tamer of basilisks, formidable dueler, charm-worker, and powerful occulmens/legilimins. While, she didn't mind Professor Snape rooting around in her mind for the purpose of teaching her the art, she did not fancy Salazar Slytherin rooting around in her thoughts. Sure, he couldn't understand the language that she spoke, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand the images that flitted through her mind.

Taking another shaky breathe, she kissed the dead man on the forehead, and made sure that his eyes were closed. She didn't make the sign of the cross over Dougal, she didn't dare as she had no idea what their particular feelings were on Christianity and didn't fancy finding out the hard way if they were negative or not. The translators body was going to left here to rot, that much she knew, as there was little chance that the army was going to stay and bury the bodies of the people that they had slain, the thought of it made her cry more which left her feeling deeply ashamed at the show of emotion. What must they think of her? She couldn't bring herself to move, the emotions of the day were piling up in her mind and the frustration of not being able to communicate with anyone was just enough of a catalyst to help the pot boil over. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to get up. Snapes voice sounded in her mind, telling her to quit with the Gryffindor dramatics and she told herself to heed his voice, and distance herself from the images that were causing her to cry.

Gripping the man's hand, slowly she got to her feet. "Quel est votre nom," she asked with the vague hope that this man spoke French.

"Non," he simply said and grabbed her face roughly, staining it was blood.

Her head jerked back as an immediate reaction which caused the man to slap her. After staring at her face for a while, the man laughed and allowed his other hand to trail down her side and roughly grab one of her breasts. The reaction she had was immediate, although useless, she pushed the man's hand away and hit him with all the strength that she had. This only caused him to laugh and he wound his hands into her hair and pulled it hard, causing her to scream. Whispering, "Ut ignis," in her ear, he quickly silenced her by pressing his lips against hers and pulling her body against his own. There was no way that she was going to submit to such an action willingly and so she allowed the mans tongue into her mouth and bit it hard. He threw her to the ground and kicked her, spitting out blood.

"Sic enim habes quod meum est conatus raptus," Slytherin glared at the man whom he had set to watch her. Hermione got to her feet as quickly as she could, not sure whether he was going to stand there and allow her to be raped or do an unexpectedly noble thing and prevent it.

"Illa mulier est alterius generis, non refert quid." the man replied. Hermione knew that they were no longer speaking in Gaelic and tried to pinpoint the language that they were; it sounded like Latin.

"Haec est mea et Gryffindor captivum te exspectant, non minus." Upon saying that, Slytherin walked over and grabbed her hand and led her away.

The man, as opposed to being upset, was standing there laughing, calling out, "delectari in."

Not quite sure what to what to do, she said in hopes that he could at least semi-understand her, "Je m'appelle Hermione. Quel est votre nom?"

Instead of answering her question, he tightened the grip on her hand and started to lead her to a horse. The same one that he had been riding earlier, one of the common modes of transportation of day. Her know it all mind filled her in on facts as he drew her closer towards the beast, apparition was known at the time of the founders, but it wasn't fully understood or trusted. Horses were favored. "Laissez-moi aller à l'instant," she screeched as she tried to pull her hand away.

He responded first by tightening his grip around her wrist, but when she cried out and struggled against him again, he stopped dead in his tracks and hit her. Hard. Twice. She didn't let it faze her and glared up at him defiantly, "Je suis d'aucune valeur pour vous! Laissez-moi aller à l'instant!"

For a split second, she wanted to hit him across the face and scream at him, but then she realized that the particular action she was thinking of was something that Harry might do. Very Gryffindor as Professor Snape would say. Right now was the time to, ironically, be thinking like a Slytherin. Harry was not the best example to follow when you were trying to get yourself out of sticky situations. Hitting her was one thing, but she suspected that soon he would pull out crucio if she did not stop struggling against him. If she wanted her shoulder to recover anytime soon, then she would have to put up with whatever he had planned for the moment. So she stopped struggling. She shook against his big hands as she felt them on her waist, lifting her up easily. Once on the horse, she was startled when he suddenly but very graciously mounted the same horse. He then leaned his body against hers, his arms moving past her to get a strong hold of the reins.

A thought entered her mind before Salazar kicked the horse into action. The bag. She wasn't going to let that get out of her grasp, quietly she whispered, "Accio bag." The bag zoomed into her grasp. Salazar grunted his displeasure from behind her, but made no move to take the bag from her. Rather, he kicked the horse into action, his men mounting and following his lead.

* * *

The first thing that came into his notice was that Wormtail was hanging from the ceiling. The second was the woman who was torturing him.

The question that first dawned in this mind was, why. Why. Why was Wormtail hanging from the ceiling and why was there a slightly psychotic looking woman standing in the middle torturing him? There were other questions floating around in his mind, an image of Hermione Granger floated to the surface of his mind, hand raised, practically jumping out of her chair with questions. He restrained himself. There was no way that he was going to let that girl influence him, no matter how much time they were going to be spending together. Breathing in deeply, allowing himself to take in the situation in full. As much as he would like to see Wormtail tortured to death he couldn't allow himself to let Wormtail die in the his living room. Well, at least without questioning why. No matter how much he hated the man.

The woman turned to face him and said nonchalantly, "Oh, don't worry, you'll be next. If you promise to behave and answer questions like a good boy, we can do this over tea. Or vodka. With chocolate. Oh, do you think that you could order a pizza? I know you have a telephone."

There was a certain amount of shock that went through his system upon hearing this statement from this woman, but the fact of the matter was that this was his house and he wanted to sleep at the moment. "Get out."

The woman turned her head to look at him with a wide eyed oblivious look. She had an innocent face, despite the fact that it was heavily tattooed with blue markings. The tattoos coiled around her eyes, like serpents, emphasizing their strangeness. One as blue, the other was grey. She was wearing a rather skimpy top, along with a skirt that did little to hide the extensive tattoos on her arms and legs; she could easily give Nymphadora a run for her money in the department of strange attire. Her hair was pitch black, wavy, and fell to the floor. Why anyone would want to grow their hair out to that length was beyond him, it seemed like way to much time and effort. Despite all this, she seemed innocent and cute, like a child. She gave off no air of being powerful in the, least, which she must have been to get past the wards placed on his house and to restrain Wormtail with that silver hand of his.

"Okay, so we are going to do this the hard way. Damn. Cor. Fine. The old Prince estates in Scotland? Those are yours. The Gringotts vaults if you smile. I wanted the information to come out of you both willingly, but if you don't cooperate then I will get it out the hard way. I know you don't like him. Anyone that you work with. The only thing that binds you to these people is the mark on your arm." The ending part of the statement sounded like she understood what he was going through. It sounded sincere. Loving in a way.

She turned to face Wormtail, thinking that he would be appeased with her offer. It was the calmness in the woman's voice, the sanity in it, the familiarity in it, drove his temper out in the open. He was determined not to loose his temper for the second time that day. "There is no reason for us to continue this conversation..." he started.

"Sit!" She exclaimed.

It was the strangest thing that he had ever felt in his life, right up there with getting the dark mark. Then again, this evening was moving forward in a steadfastly surreal manner. First the old man and now a psychotic woman torturing Wormtail in his living room. His body moved of its own accord to the chair and sat down. Of its own volition. But more than that, it stood at the ready, wanting her to command it again. It wasn't the imperius by any means; it was something more than the imperius. More powerful. And addicting. Instantly, he wanted to know the details of this magic. Specifically, he wanted to know the details of the magic that would help him ensure that it was never used on him again.

The woman turned around the face Wormtail again, satisfied that he wasn't going to do anything to stop her now. "Now where were we at, Peter? I believe you were explaining to me why you learned Rowena's spell. Go on, explain to me."

"I didn't do it! They made me learn the spell!" Wormtail screamed as soon as the witch took the silencing spell off of him.

"No one made you learn anything Peter, tell me the truth." She repeated, in a patient voice. "I was there, my dear Cor-lover. I know what you did. Tell me the truth."

"But that is the truth to tell! My friends made me learn the spell; I had to have them so I wouldn't be an outcast, they did it for the werewolf, the damn stinking werewolf and if I didn't do it I would end up worse than him! Than him! You can't kill me, if you do then our Lord will see it avenged." Peter screamed in agony.

"Lord Voldemort," Severus cringed when he heard he say the Dark Lord's name, "is a minor wizard with a flair for the dramatic Peter. He bears nothing to me. His forefather was a great wizard who was loved by many. People would come for miles to beg for his love. Even the people he tortured. Imagine how it must have been. No one comes to beg Lord Voldemort for his love or his favors. He has no favors or love to offer. He is nothing. Answer me."

"I have answered you! You are just some maniac! There is no way you could have known Rowena Ravenclaw."

"That is particularly rich, coming from a person who serves what is now a creature who was once a man who willingly transfigured himself into a snake-man. As much of a Cor-lover as Dumbledore is there is the defined advantage that he at least retains the appearance of humanity." The woman drawled.

"But there is no other wizard that has achieved immortality except for our Lord!" The last word of Wormtails sentence was practically unintelligible for the woman drew a dagger and cut a vertical line through the Dark Mark.

"Wrong. Why would an immortal wizard share her secrets of immortality with the rest of the wizarding populace? In case you haven't noticed, the quest for immortality brings out the worst in people. I, on the other hand, was not given a choice in immortality." The mark on Wormtails arm bled freely, the blood dripping black onto the floor. "Of course, this isn't all about the fact that you used darling Rowena's spell, this is about the fact that you are a total sod and a cad but you were the one that caused the death of one of my family members causing me to have to go through the process of reproduction again."

"If I may interrupt," he said, "those statements, while righteously touching, are particularly rich coming from a person who is torturing a man in a stranger's living room." Severus decided to tastefully leave out the last part of the statement that had included the words definitively odd.

"So an answer to both of your questions is required now. First to you, Severus: I know you quite well. Who do you think comforted you the night Lily Evans betrayed you? Who do you think joined the Death Eaters with you in order to gain knowledge to the tattoo so that one day she might remove it from her friend? Who went to the trouble of stealing a horcrux so that she might help her friend? But as always, gender binds you people."

Upon saying that she spun around very quickly, her hair shortening to the middle of her back, tattoos disappearing, gained about four centimeters in height, and turned into a man. A very familiar man. With one blue eye and one gray eye. The man wore a familiar smirk on his face and was now dressed in black pants and a loose black button up shirt. Rather than looking his age, the man appeared to be no older than 18. If it hadn't been for the magic binding him to his seat, Severus would have gotten up and wrung the man's neck.

"I hate patrilineal societies. They are so demeaning." The man said with a smirk.

Wormtail was stuttering from behind, having seen the trick before. Only one animagus could do that particular trick. Only one. "R-r-r-r-e-gul-us..."

"Any answers for me Wormtail?" The man's voice was a high tenor, barely changing from before.

"I have answered you!" Wormtail screamed in frustration, rather than in pain.

"With pathetic half-answers and apologies. I hate to do this, because it is what he would do, but I will have to send you to hell. This spell is not to be used for fun or for light matters. It was not created for such. Therefore, by order of the Code set down by the Wind, Water, Earth, and Fire: By the cycle of completeness I Nimue Polaris Regulus Black sentences you to Hell." She said this in a light even voice that gained a thick accent near the end of the speech.

Wormtail simply disappeared after she said that. The Blood that had been on the carpet, the ropes that had held him to the ceiling, all of it was simply gone. A single rose was left. The words left his mouth before he could think better of saying it, "More flowers?"

"Don't you dare confuse me with that old bastard!" Regulus screeched, "I came up with the idea first. He stole it from me."

The appearance of his old friend made him very angry. As did his formerly bloodied living room. But there was also the fact that Regulus currently had the upper hand right now. He didn't particularly feel like dying at the moment and he was extremely accomplished at playing sides. "Did you say something about Vodka?"

"I said something that included Vodka." Regulus smiled warmly, her magic still gripping at his limbs.

"I could get those items. It might be pleasant." It was one of the worst concessions that he had made in his life. Questions were swirling around in his mind and that damned image of Hermione Granger bouncing up and down in her chair, eager to answer his question, just would not leave his head. He now knew, in more detail than he would have ever liked, how the girl felt every time he didn't let her answer one of the questions. Regulus, and he knew it was Regulus by the trick that he pulled, had a lot of explaining to do. He had never felt a greater urge to wring someone's neck than he did at that particular moment.

"I agree. It will be pleasant. We will embark on a journey to hunt down the most dangerous wizard of all times: Merlin!" It was always, always the masters who were perky, never the underlings. The perkier, the less fun it would be. He sounded very perky.

Snape inwardly groaned. It was going to be an even longer night, but at least included Vodka.

* * *

Salazar could not help to notice that the girl was still shaking. Silently, he cast a warm spell on the witch that seemed to be unable to do without so without a wand. Even after he cast the warming spell, the witch still shivered. He laughed loudly and the other men looked back at him and at the strange girl with identical smirks on their faces. Their master was pleased and for them that was a very good thing. The witch was scared of him and obviously had realized how powerless she was in this situation, whether she had a wand or not. She had a fire stirring within her and that fire would help her overcome the fear that she had of him, eventually. But not now. Soon thoughts of escape would bleed into her mind and she would make an attempt, after all, she was a Gryffindor.

He wondered why the family had not presented her yet. Judging from her body, she must be well past the age of 18. Although judging by her height, he would assume that perhaps she was a bit younger. But their was a suspicion cradling itself in his mind, centering around the fact that she had not been presented to the wizarding world. The girl looked too much like Godric to be dismissed, right down the scars that she bore and that persistent fire that burned within her. It was more than just the similar color of the hair and eyes, her jaw line matched Godric's a bit too closely, the way her eyes slanted, the boorish manners and the extreme lack of tact. Her wrists were the same and when her hair parted at the back of her neck, there was that birthmark. Too similar to be mere siblings. Things started to add up in his mind, as he recalled scenes that had passed his notice during the time he had spent with Godric, but now added up into a wonderfully smooth equation. This girl was Godric's twin. Making her a precise 21 years in age.

"Are you going to keep all your contemplations to yourself," Aiden asked with fake laced in his voice.

"I see no reason to state the obvious to you." Salazar replied.

"But you should. It makes the ride interesting. Going straight to my home is just so responsible." Aiden complained. In the background he could hear Arcturus chuckle to himself, Aiden was always the vocal one out of the two.

"We aren't going to your home. We are going to mine. You don't have a home." Salazar reminded Aiden.

"Details, details. They bind you, they break you. Did you tell Cormag about the prisoner you caught? Aiden asked.

"I feel that the element of surprise is always the best way to approach things. It will keep him on his toes. Not my fault if he cannot notice the obvious." Salazar said this, smiling with pride. He need not add in the last part of the sentence as his friends also knew that his half brother was a complete annoyance.

"It is a shame that she can't speak our language, if she could then the ride might be a bit livelier. There are some questions that I am just dying to ask her. I haven't talked to a person who uses a wand before! It could be the most stimulating conversation." Aiden said wistfully.

"And my conversational ability is not up to your standards? I had no idea I become so dull." Salazar quipped.

"I find it odd that Aiden can't speak to her. Aren't demons supposed to have no language barriers?" Arcturus finally said.

Aiden glared at Arcturus. He was very proud of his demon heritage and the abilities he possessed because of it. Although there were some sensitive points, like the fact he was only 1/4 demon and had fewer abilities than his father. He didn't like being reminded of this. "Even my father doesn't have that ability," Aiden said petulantly.

"That you know of." Arcturus added, just for the effect.

"We can't choose our mothers! Not my fault my father didn't carry on the tradition with me!" Aiden squawked angrily.

His half brother rode up beside him, his horse breathing hard from the strain of trying to catch up with Salazar and his friend went silent, unwilling to even allow for the opportunity to let Cormag into the conversation. He felt sorry for the horse, but not for his half brother. Cormag glanced over at the girl that he was riding with, taking into account her appearance, and glared at her and him. But his half brother chose not to say a word to either of them, the girl thankfully kept her mouth shut, and chose to ride in a rather sulky silence beside him. It was just as well. Internally, his half brother was probably fuming over the fact that Salazar had found the girl before he had. After Salazar showed his fathers the memories from the battle with the Weasleys, it would be all over for Cormag. There was no way that he could even make up a story that he had been helpful in either the battle or in capturing the girl. Although, he would have to keep a close eye on the girl, to make sure that neither she nor Cormag came into contact with each other. Nothing was going to happen between either of them. Nothing.

Contemplating on the history, what had probably happened was that she had been born ill and the family had deemed her unsightly. They wouldn't kill her, no; they were superstitious about things like this. Twins were connected. If they killed one, surely the other would die. For all their hate of Godric, they would not kill the twin; less it affect him in some way. The girl recovered, eventually, but it was far too late to make her of any use to them, there was no catching up on magic or manners at this point in her life. What teacher would take her? But she had been resourceful and ran away from her family and headed up north, to the Slytherin family territory, the last place that they would think to look for her. But then, on her journey to get away from her family, she had run into him. Even if she wasn't of any use to her family, she was of use to him and his family and that was the most important part. He was going to like this girl quite a bit. Indeed, she would prove to be the most interesting prisoner he had ever taken, the thought as he swatted her hair away from his face. There were few words that he could use to truly capture the beauty that was her hair. Curly. Wild. Rats nest. Untamable. Annoying. It went simply everywhere: in his nose, in his ears, in his eyes, in his mouth. If it wasn't for stubborn pride to ride out the day, he would have stopped a long time ago and braided the girls hair, just to get it out of his face.

Eventually they had to stop; there was no way that they were going to get back home this evening, even if they were going to ride through the night. The horses were simply to tired, they needed a rest. If they left in the early morning, they would be home by the late afternoon of the next day. His friends stole a glance at him, thinking the same thing that he was, and he gave the signal that they should stop for the night. It was as good of a place as any, there was a small stream nearby that would provide some water. Even his half brother smiled genuinely in relief at the signal that they were stopping for the day. A few hours of rest wouldn't make a difference in the least. With those thoughts in mind, he signaled his men to stop and heard a sigh of relief from the girl in front of him. Hermione, she had called herself. He doubted that it was her real name; she probably didn't have a name at all. The elder of a family was supposed to give you your name. Names had meaning, magical meaning. Defined you as a person. The Gryffindors didn't hand out names until a child got their magic. Godric had been 11. In his sleep, Godric would say his name again and again perhaps with the fear of loosing it.

Sighing, he got off his horse and led it to a tree, tying it to the tree, his friends following him to the tree while he brother made a point to tie his horse up on the exact opposite side of camp. He then helped the girl get off the animal; her face was contorted in pain, as if she had never ridden a horse in her life. She limped away from him, in an effort to put some distance between herself and him, which caused him to chuckle. There was no way that she was going to run away in that condition, she could barely walk as it was. Aiden followed her, not bothering to take the time to groom his horse. His eyes, as opposed to be glued to either her breasts or her ass were set on her wand, which caused Salazar to role his eyes. He sincerely doubted that there was anything particularly special about wanded magic, in his opinion it just held the wizard back and created easy ways of learning magic. But Aiden was convinced that there was something more too wanded magic and so he followed her like duckling, waiting for her to pull out her wand and use it. Arcturus sighed and took over the task of caring for Aiden's horse and silently signaled to him that he would take care of Salazar horse as well, despite the fact that Salazar preferred to do the work himself.

Despite everything else, there were orders to give and people to oversee. His half brothers men could just not be trusted to be fully organized like his own were; true to prediction, they were already causing problems. Nothing was done about it, by his half brother who should have been in command of them. He was busy with other important tasks, such as setting up his tent and making himself comfortable. There was a gloating look on his face, he knew the problems that he was causing, and dared Salazar to come over and pick a fight with the expression reflected in his eyes. Salazar ignored the taunt and went about doing his brothers duty of putting the men into their places. There was a slight lack of respect that the men showed him, a lack of loyalty that they owed to him, the heir of Slytherin. Salazar expected nothing less that absolute loyalty from his men and he paid them loyalty in return. Never once did he loose his temper. His own men showed fear at this lack of temper and paid extra care to their duties.

Amidst the camp, his special prisoner wandered through, trying to help the men with their duties. The language barrier made it almost impossible to communicate, but she was starting to create a rather elaborate series of hand gestures to convey things. Aiden trailed after her, ever the duckling paying attention to the hand gestures and learning their meaning, desperate to see her use the wand. He watched with fascination that would put even the most rapt two year old to shame. The two followed an odd combination of following and leading each other. But Aiden was a demanding audience. He always wanted more. Arcturus was smiling in the background, knowing full well what was going on, he made no move to interrupt things, possibly because he knew that sooner or later something hilarious would happen.

Over on the other side of the camp he could see the other prisoners that he had taken, they were panting and their faces were contorted in an expression of humiliation and defeat. They stared at the girl he had captured with hate on their faces. She was the cause of their defeat. She was allowed to go free. She was allowed to keep her dignity. Salazar performed some extra binding spells on the prisoners just in case Godric had given them knowledge on breaking them. Despite training together for over ten years, Godric did not know all the spells that Salazar knew. Only some of them. He then cast minor pain curses on the prisoners, over the night the pain would build and in the morning it would desist. They would be utterly sore and miserable.

It was almost near the end of the set up process that it happened. Salazar counted himself fortunate to have been so close to the pair when it did happen. Aiden wanted her to perform some serious magic with that wand. She sensed this and refused on principle. But Aiden had a special way of annoying people and considering the girls already piqued temper, it wasn't too hard to get her to crack. It was what she did when she cracked that had been so interesting. The spell did no harm, despite how powerful it was, it just blinded people for a moment, particularly Aiden.

"Expecto Patronum!" She yelled.

A bright light shot out of her wand, blinding him for a moment, and took the shape of an otter. The otter danced through the air, around the girl, around the camp, and around him. It mocked him, harassed him and then swooped through the air to dance around the girl. It was incredibly powerful and incredibly focused. He made a mental note to study that incantation. The girl was smiling as she cast it and reached out to touch it. The otter swooped away, out of her grasp before she could and dissipated, leaving her with a frown on her face. An otter indeed. Aiden was on the ground, grumbling and rubbing his eyes. The girl turned heel and walked away from him, heading towards one of the fires to warm herself.

"What the hell was that," he grumbled, "That was no light spell I have ever heard of, what was she trying to do, blind us?"

Salazar walked over towards his friend and held out his hand, "No, it only affected you in the way. It does something else, although I am not quite sure what it does. It will be known sooner or later."

"I don't like it," Aiden announced as he got to his feet, "there is something innately wrong with wand casting. That girl has far too much power and she relies on that wand to heavily to control it. She doesn't even know what she is doing. I guarantee, if you take that wand away from her, within days she will be having magical outbursts. Big, scary magical outbursts."

"Surely she knows how to control them." Salazar smiled; Aiden's anger had always amused him, because of the way that he chose to show it. Aiden knew this. And it pissed him off even more.

"I don't think she does, she relies on that thing to heavily. I don't like it. Casting that way in unnatural. That girl will put Rowena to shame." Aiden said as he stalked off, dagger in hand.

When the camp was set it was all too simple of a matter to find his captive, standing by a fire trying to warm herself. The men avoided that particular fire that she was standing by and gave her odd looks, clearly frightened by her. If this bothered her, she did not show it in her expression. Rather, she looked particularly tired and focused. He grabbed her shoulder causing her to shriek, "Laissez-moi aller à l'instant!"

He growled, annoyed at the death of Dougal, the only person who could truly communicate with her. Irritated he said in Latin, "Veni mecum."

She stared at him, shaking her head that she didn't understand and he repeated in Spanish, "Ven conmigo."

She stood there for a moment, taking in his words, and her face gradually lit with understanding. But there was fear in her eyes, a fear that he had seen in woman's eyes before when he had taken with him to a secluded place. They always, always thought he was going to do that dirty muggle act. It was no different with her. Gently, he said while shaking his head and holding out his hand, "Hermione," intoning the name perfectly.

She audibly gulped, but took his hand. Her eyes still shone with the fear, but however little this act mattered in the long run, she had chosen to put her faith in him just this once which proved that she had the ability to look beyond appearances and possessed the necessary faith to trust in people despite appearances that suggested otherwise. And oh, would he take advantage of this ability starting tonight. Gentleness, he had found, when combined with the right amount of fear in a person, created a more satisfactory effect than torture. But in order to do this, you had to give to people and make it worth their while. Behind him, he could sense that his half brother was glaring daggers at him, cursing her very existence at the camp. It wasn't only greed that brought him to lead Hermione into his tent that night.

They were greeted with warming spells and a fire when they entered the tent, it wasn't an extravagant tent, not like the one that his half brother had been known to use, but it suited his needs. Comfort, warmth, and utility. She sat down, nervously, by the fire and watched him intently, waiting for him to make his move. They were both at the stage in the process that he hated the most, developing trust, heightened by the language barrier in this case. Offering her food and drink was the first step in the process. It was simple fare, traveling food, by any standards. She accepted it with caution, sniffing the food and drink, tentatively tasting (particularly in the case of the drink he provided) as if she thought that he was going to taint the food with something. As if he would need to taint something in order to affect someone. Perhaps a lesser wizard would taint something; he however was above such actions. Her actions made him want to laugh, but he kept his face passive in this case. Now was not the time for humor.

When she had finished she tentatively said, "Quel est votre nom?"

He sighed, not quite sure what she had said and wished that he had taken the time to learn French. She pointed to herself and said, "Hermione," and then pointed to him. His name. She wanted his name. The fact that she hadn't recognized him meant that she must have been very sheltered indeed. He couldn't help but feel a twitch of anger that she didn't know who he was.

"Salazar Slytherin," he replied.

He watched as her face showed her fear, which pleased him greatly. He liked to be known amongst the people. Perhaps she had suspected and wanted a confirmation of this. He suspected that there was a gap in her knowledge, that she had only heard vague bits about him, which could work for or against him in the long run. He grabbed a few bits of twine that he had set aside and made a move towards her. Her face was so expressive, it took on that look again, and she moved away from him.

"Non," he said.

"S'il vous plaît pas," she whispered.

"Non," he said again as he sat down behind her.

There was no way she could run from him, she wasn't physically fit enough to outrun him. He could drag her back easy and make the whole experience painful. Oh yes, he knew how the whole process went. He had seen men assert this right more than once, he thought as he started to finger comb her hair. He never wanted to watch such a thing happen again. But there was no way of telling her this now. She could gradually have to come to the realization over the course of the night as to what his true intentions were. As it stood, it looked like he would spend a majority of the evening combing and braiding her hair. But there was no way that he was going to spend another day breathing and eating her hair.

Despite the gentleness, the girl was silently crying, waiting for him to do something. She sat still, barely breathing out of fear. Being assured that she wouldn't move or try to run away and set with the rhythm of combing her hair, he allowed himself to touch her skin every now and then and begin to affect her. There was no real way to describe what he did, or at the very least well. This fact made the art a particularly hard one to teach, but it was one that he easily managed. The key to doing it well was to understand what you were affecting: the body. He had studied something that not many people had bothered to study, corpses, to fully understand the art. Simply put, he was affecting the body in minor ways, helping the person to feel or do certain things. You had to do it slowly, let your magic seep into their body, flow alongside theirs, and gradually affect their bodily energy but not the magic itself. He preferred to do it slowly to a person, feeling that it was more effective this way, but he could do it suddenly as well. In a sense, this magic was far more effective than anything that the imperius curse could make a person do. It was the art that he was known for, although the rumors of what he could do with the ability were highly exaggerated but nonetheless veered very closely to the truth.

Under his touch, slowly she relaxed. Quietly he said, "Non." It was the one word that he knew she could understand.

And it was in this manner that he bled into her, claiming her in a much more deep yet sensual way. Gradually, he helped her to relax and feel content. He helped her notice the pleasurable sensations, the warmth of the fire, the tiredness taking over her senses, and the feel of his fingers in her hair. Words could barely do justice to her hair. It was wild, curly, and completely untamable. It was a rich blue black that tumbled down past her waist. It wasn't like Godric's, which left you feeling cold, but rather her hair brought to mind a gentle comforting warmth that could only be found in darkness. Hair like this required attention, combs, oils, ribbons. After a while of careful, considerate manipulation with her body's energies, she luxuriated in his attentions, as if she had never received attention before. After all the stresses of the day it was a wonderful comfort that he could do something like this to close it. It was the most relaxing thing that he knew how to do, because he always learned so many things while he was doing it.

Oh, there was so much he could learn about her. Beneath her lovely hair and charmingly plump figure, there were scars, old and new. He sensed that there was something not quite right in her mind, a separation of sorts that he had never seen before. There were numerous magical scars all over her body, as if someone had tried to hurt her, or kill her repeatedly. He was careful not to finish the sentence in his mind, lest it disrupt his concentration. The most troublesome point was the great blockage of energy and pit of rotting, black magic on her shoulder. Someone had cursed her. He exerted himself fully into her and studied it from within. There were some signs that she had been trying to heal it, but it had taken some damage recently and was reverting back. If he let it rot, it would kill her. Not today, but slowly because of the effort that had been taken to heal it.

He signed audibly as he picked up the twine and tied it to a section of her hair. Her eyes were drooping and her body was going lax against his, not even noticing what he was doing to her. He smiled, drawing out of her, knowing that she would fall asleep soon. He sectioned her hair off into four strands and braided them tightly together. The braid was thick and heavy, going straight down her back. It was truly lovely hair, he imagined it coiled on the top of her hair, festooned with ribbons and sleek with oil. The vision made him smile as he laid down beside her, wrapping himself around her body for warmth.

* * *

"If I am to judge by the look on your face, I would say that you are pissed at me right now when you should be happy that I am alive. I'm hurt." Regulus spun around again, changing into the form he had worn before, that of a girl with hair that was far to long wearing skimpy clothing.

There were so many things that he want to say to Regulus, wanted to scream at Regulus. They had been close, as close as he had ever been to anyone. It had been that manner of Regulus's disappearance that caused a reaction. Finding out that all the time Regulus had been working towards defeating Voldemort and then going off on a mission on his own and dying in the process. It was one of the things, one of the many things that troubled him about the war. Regulus, if only he had come to him, they could have been comrades. Or so he had thought. All those years of worry and regret for nothing. Regulus had been sitting around, enjoying life, and eating everything in site leaving him and everyone else here to rot. Of course there was another question that tipped to the surface of his mind, how had Regulus gotten the Dark Mark off of his arm?

"What exactly do you think you are doing?" He snapped.

Regulus did not show any sign that he was paying attention to his tone of voice and said, "Oh so I guess this is goodbye to the 'hi Regulus, how are you doing' part of the conversation. Well as an answer to that, I am doing well physically, but upon hearing the fact that my bother is dead and I am going to have to breed again, I am rather pissed. Then there is the minor fact that Merlin escape. Two obligations to fulfill. And I was so looking to spend another year in Hong Kong, the food there is to die for!"

"So let me get this straight. You fake your death, show up years later in my living room as a woman, torture and kill a man in said living room, and then complain about not being able to spend another year in Hong Kong enjoying the food because of the horridly depressing obligations that you have to fulfill which include breeding and tracking down a wizard who is dead." Curse Blacks and their eternal arrogance, curse himself for being stupid as a teen, and curse this damn day. The look that Regulus gave him was arrogant and unapologetic, Regulus looked proud of the fact that he had spent all of those years, trotting the globe, eating.

But despite the look on Regulus's face, the tone that he used was quite different, "You think it made me happy, leaving you like you were? You were my friend Severus, but I made a vow to not interfere unless Merlin interfered or my family was about to go extinct. I wanted to help you, if only you had chosen a different path. I was so certain Merlin would make his move while you were in school."

"Merlin is dead and unbind me!" He screamed in response.

"I am not Merlin Severus; Merlin has no qualms of upsetting the balance of things for his own purposes. I cannot take that sort of risk, my values and vows will not allow me to. Surely you see that? Whatever Merlin is planning has got to be stopped. If his plans fail, then it will be the ruin of it all. We must do something." The tone continued here and the look on Regulus's face softened, it started to look sad and regretful.

It wasn't hard to guess where this conversation was leading, there was always the question, the hinting, and then the offer/order, "And you want me to do what?"

"I want you to assist in this and make the necessary move." Regulus said simply.

Snape glared at Regulus, wanting to strangle him more than ever now, partially because he had yet to release him from the bind. Regulus looked at him intensely, waiting for a reply. This conversation was surreal. This whole day was surreal. To say that he was angry at the situation did not do his mood justice, so he hissed with an intention of provoking Regulus, "Because you are a coward?"

Regulus's eyes took on a patient sparkling quality that he had seen so many times in Albus Dumbledore and he hated that." Because my time has passed. I have no right to be here. I am unnatural Severus. I am a wave that has been stopped, a flower trapped in wax. I cannot age Severus. It is up to your generation to do what you feel is right. I am interfering to take care of the dregs of my generation. Merlin."

"Except in the case of your family." He taunted again.

This time the taunt worked, Regulus's eyes lost their patient sparkling quality and became hard and cold and did not hold a single bit of madness him them, "Family is something that you are stuck with, no matter how much you hate them or they hate you. Family can be the greatest thing and the worst thing, loving and hateful, and more often then not they think that they know who you are and what you need, but in reality they are the ones that suck you dry and leave you empty hating both yourself and them. They think they know everything, but in reality they don't have a clue about the person you really are, because you have to be a different person while you are with them and that makes you hate yourself even more. Yet they demand loyalty and require loyalty."

"Your words are contradictory to your actions." He replied.

"In the eyes of someone who does not know me. How about I show you a memory or two to help convince you? I know that you have a pensieve. I think that this is the first time that you have been offered to look into someone else's thoughts instead of the other way around." There was an implication in the tone: if he refused Regulus's offer, then Regulus could do the same thing that he did to Wormtail and extract whatever information he wanted out of him.

There wasn't really any other option except for agreeing to the offer that Regulus had proposed. He didn't need to say anything; Regulus just knew and unbound him silently. The pensive was in the upper level of his house, warded heavily so that Wormtail wouldn't try to get into it like Potter had. It was a simple task for him to carry the pensieve down and let Regulus deposit his memories into it, mingling with his own. The world turned grey as he looked into the pensieve, as the memories painted themselves into existence before his eyes. What he saw in the first memory was an older woman sitting at a table and Regulus in the female form striding towards her, with a furious look on his face.

"I am a cow, a fucking cow that they are taking to auction. Marry him! After all that training I am not going to sit around and be their puppet. I refuse to marry him." Regulus was in a more passionate mood than he had ever seen his friend in. He sat across from a woman who despite looking old, looked terribly dignified and was wearing white. Regulus was wearing a simple black dress and robes and reached his feet.

The woman took the statement lightly, knowing who Regulus referred to, "Perhaps this could be a blessing in disguise?"

"I fail to see how turning into a farm animal for my families benefit behooves me." There was undisguised sarcasm and anger in this comment, Regulus had come to the woman for either help or pity, neither of which he was getting.

The woman was calm and patient, perhaps a bit too patient, not unlike Albus Dumbledore who held the strings of power mercilessly in his fingertips. She kept her gaze away from Regulus's, concentrating on the embroidery that she was working on, "Perhaps not you, but other people. What if he were brought down? It might save..."

"I don't think that anyone could salvage that dream." The phrase could have been sarcastic in wording, but the tone was not. It seemed that this was a well discussed topic between the two of them and they both disagreed on the topic.

The woman finally looked Regulus in the eye, "You do have the wit to stop him, before he does more damage. I know you can do it." She didn't need to finish the sentence. Regulus's want to not be the proverbial cow came at a price, Regulus would have to do what this woman wanted in order to get any help at all. But there seemed to be more to it, an unnamed agenda at hand that both of them knew about, discussed thoroughly, and that he wasn't aware of.

But before he could get more out of the conversation the scene changed from unfamiliar to a more familiar scene: Hogwarts. It was the Gryffindor corridor. Regulus was as he remembered him in their days at Hogwarts and was practically running after Lily. He grabbed her sleeve and forced her against a wall, blocking any route of escape. Severus's throat tightened. He didn't know about this scene. Regulus had never spoken to Lily the entire time he had attended Hogwarts, to his knowledge. Severus half expected Regulus to do an act he had never seen him do, his body was tense and it looked like he was going to do something. But all he did was talk and prevent her from going anywhere.

"I am not asking you to be sacrificial cow like I was. I am asking you to forgive him and make him see things differently. It is not an impossible thing to do. Manipulate him, protect him from the shadows. "His tone was dangerous, angry to say the least, but patient as well. It sounded like the memory had begun in the middle of the conversation as opposed to the beginning.

"I don't think he deserves my help, not after what he called me. He called me that name! How could he!" Lily hissed the words and as she did so Severus bit his tongue. There was no talking to her, this was only a memory, but he still wanted to cry out to her and beg her to forgive him, even though he knew she never would

Regulus sighed and hit the wall in frustration, "Oh grow up girl! There is more at stake here than your feelings. Severus needs you! If you continue on the road that you are going down, you are going to end up a pawn in Albus Dumbledore's hands and so will Severus. That man will use you, your son, and the sacrifice you will make for his own benefit and twisted ideals. Can't you see? He wants you to do this. It was all just a matter of waiting. Don't do what he wants!"

Lily pushed Regulus away and walked off in a huff, "I don't have to sit here and listen to the likes of you spouting off nonsense."

An almost unreadable expression took over Regulus's face and the tattoos that he had seen earlier appeared along with a slight change in the face that made him look more feminine, "Then you are a goddamn fool Lily. I make a prophecy upon the settings and principles to which and I was granted and gifted authority: you will die before the decade is up and your son will live in sorrow for the rest of his life and bring ruin to your name. No one will remember you for what you are, only for what Albus Dumbledore paints you."

The memory ended with Regulus stomping angrily down the halls, face still covered in tattoos, swearing in heavily accented Gaelic. The scene changed to that of a smoky pub. He recognized the pub as being the Leaky Cauldron around the time around the time of the first war. Regulus appeared androgynous, long hair that went past the waist and wore men's clothing. Careful study allowed him to see the traditional Black features that a normal person might not see upon first upon first sight. The slight curl in her hair, the cheekbones, the shape of the fingers, and even the arrogant attitude that permeated her being despite the depressed attitude that colored her countenance.

"What are you running from?" The barman asked.

"My life, my brother, my friend, and my former lover; in short, everything. More vodka? He replied. He could tell that what she had told the barmen had been half lie and half truth. There was something more that was bothering her, something deeper.

The scene swirled and changed again. It was dark outside and the area was lit with tiny light spells that floated above. There was a small crowd of people who were all wearing white robes. Regulus was wearing white as well, although it was in a different style than the others; his robes were more akin to the style worn in the days of the founders. Her white robes were covered in blood and beside her rested two heads, one man had fiery red hair and the other had dark brown hair.

"What have we accomplished today besides giving me the title "Bloody Nimue?" He was a good man! Now it is all going to go to hell anyways. What have I done?" She yelled, tears streaming down her face.

"We don't yet know what will play out by your actions Nimue and you know that. The world is full of paths to take and sometimes people will go down paths that they do not expect to take and are given results that yield treasures to great to tell. You know that." The one with the most lights gathered around her answered. There was an indifferent look on the woman's face.

Regulus did not share the woman's indifference to the situation. He dropped the dark brown haired head and wrapped both of her arms around the red haired head. "I also know that people are stupid and we killed a good man today because he had one wrong belief. He had a good vision."

"Which included hate. You know we could not allow such a thing to happen?" She turned around, revealing a mixed expression on her face, both disappointment and an extreme sense of admiration colored her expression. An unusual mixture of emotions.

But he didn't hear the voice at all; all he saw were images of an older man, with hair like fire and eyes like the stormy sea. It was the head that he held while it was still attached to the body. The man, in life, had exuded confidence and an air of understanding. Perhaps he would go so far as to say kindness. "I will never interfere again. I want to live out the rest of my life and carry out my two obligations, making sure that Merlin stays sealed away and my line continues."

But there was a common theme for all of these memories. Despite how Severus viewed Regulus, he would always be a boy in Severus's mind, in all of the memories; Regulus had taken the form of a woman. He thought as he felt a burning sensation on his arm as he came out of the memories, "The Dark Lord knows about Wormtails death. He is summoning me."

There was that same sense around her, the slight look of confidence still existed on her face despite the depressed sound in her voice. "You can stay or go Severus; I will not force you to stay."

"What was the name of the man you killed?" He asked.

"Salazar called Salazar the Odd. He was a good man, if a bit idealistically challenged." This time, her voice was laced with true sadness and respect. There was love in there are well.

Despite everything that occurred between them, he found himself hesitating to leave.

* * *

She awoke to darkness surrounding her senses. Her head was resting on Salazar's arm, a soft living pillow. The man himself was fully clothed, draped around her, and was dead asleep. No matter how much she twisted or turned he never awoke and he always kept his arms wrapped securely around her. If it weren't for the faint snoring she heard, she would swear the man was awake. Apparently, even in his sleep, Salazar was determined to keep her with him. Knowing full well that it was foolish to try and escape, but needing to get away, even a few feet away from the man for a while she twisted her body so that she was entwined with him, an action that seemed to create some sort of soothing response in him causing him to loosen his grip, and rolled them so that she was on top of him. No longer entwined in his arms, she carefully got off of him, hoping that would not wake him. She doubted that he would assume she was simply going to the bathroom, he would assume that she was trying to escape and she might be punished for the act. But she needed this, more than anything; she needed to wipe the feeling of his hands in her hair, barely touching her neck, and the sound of his humming while he braided her hair. Those were things she needed to forget.

Quietly, she exited the tent and sat under a nearby tree, not to far away from where the horses were tied. It took willpower to not cry. Her own body was betraying her by feeling pleasure at that mans touch, falling asleep against him. But there was one thing that she was not going to give him; she would never give this man the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Eventually her body would become a plaything, she knew how things worked in these days, and choice after choice would be taken from her. If there was one thing she could control, it was whether or not she cried. The logical thing to do was learn the language and try to communicate some sense into that mans head, that she was of no value and that she was not a threat. Then she could pursue other things, like putting as much distance between herself and that man, scouring her skin off, and finding a way back home. Truly though, it was hard to be optimistic at this point.

"Trying to run away?" A voice said from above.

Hermione turned her head to see where the voice came from, but all she saw was a a falcon, specifically a Merlin in a tree. The voice spoke again, "It won't do you good. You know that the chances of escaping successfully are slim. He knows your face and will never stop hunting you."

The voice did come from the Merlin in the tree. The falcon flew down from the tree it was perched upon and headed towards the stream that the camp was situated by. Hermione followed after it as quietly as she could and tried to not leave a trail. When she reached the stream, she looked up in the trees, looking for the bird.

"Over here," the Merlin said, "look into the water."

Hermione wanted to demand answers, but at the moment she was too afraid to speak, afraid to move, even afraid to think for fear that somehow it might wake him. She glared at the bird, demanding answers with her eyes. But the bird gave none and so she looked into the water and beheld a face.

Supposedly, it was supposed to be hers.

The face she saw had her cheekbones and her nose, but there were two long scars across her face and her eyes were slanted and colored in a way that they hadn't been before. She gulped loudly and suppressed a scream. This was not her face. She grabbed her hair, which reached well past her waist, and looked at the color. Black. Eyes. Violet. Scars. Her thoughts became a blur as she recalled Paulina. In the back of her mind, she felt a sticky blackness, like honey, calling to her. She almost retreated back to it, had it not been for the fear that recast itself in her mind amiss the shock. She was in a camp, not meters away from where Salazar Slytherin slept. This was not the time for dramatics. There was no time to be thinking like Harry. Like Ron. There was no time and no room for foolish escapes.

"This is your face. And I assure you, no concealment, no polyjuice will conceal your face. Learn to call it your own. And remember, you cannot escape." The bird then left its perch and she could almost hear it laughing.

For a moment she stood there in shock, staring at the face before her. It bore little resemblance to her own, despite the nose and the cheekbones. A scream was welling up inside of her, but she suppressed it. The face that she had now, with the scars, was ugly. The scars stood out boldly against the skin, which had a slight sallow pallor it. Her lips were no longer full and youthful, but thin and drawn into a line. There were dark circles underneath her eyes that seemed to emphasize their odd color. Despite the tight braid, her hair was defying all logic and working its way out of the braid, forming slight curls as opposed the general frizziness that had been there before. But despite the fact that her body was wearing these features, she felt that her body was not her own, that she was merely wearing it.

A tear slipped down her face.

Part of her spoke the logic that she should go back into Salazar's tent and wrap herself around him. Enjoy the warmth of his body and the warmth of his tent. Do what he wanted. Simper. Smile. Play the good girl. Do not do what Harry would do. But that voice of logic was drowned out. She felt like a caged lion, unable to run, unable to hunt, having to deal with a thousand eyes staring at your every move. Backed into a corner. Freedom. Freedom was the only word that she heard in her mind. A sweet sugary word that filled her being with a glimmer of hope. So really, there was only one option in her mind. Only one road that she could take, whether or not it was the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do. She crept away, putting some distance between herself and the camp, cast a silencing spell on her feet, and ran.

There wasn't any logic in the direction she ran; it was simply away from the camp. She was breathing heavy before long, he leg muscles tired and sore, and there was that vague notion that perhaps she should have tried to steal one of the horses but the only thing that truly mattered was getting away from him. From that camp. There was no way that she was going to willingly sit there and be the perfect prisoner. She could hardly believe that she had laid there next to him, leaned back against him, let him comb her hair, let him touch her. The thoughts kept her moving even though he legs were aching and she wanted to slow down, hide. But there was no where she could hide. The only solution was to put distance between them and hope that he did not figure out which direction she ran in.

The days events circled in her mind: waking up, driving with her parents, talking with her parents, her parents killed, those muggles killed, that head, that man who died in her arms, the ride on the horse with him, eating with him, being touched by him, laying next to him, and that potion that she drank. She suddenly couldn't get the taste of it out of her mouth. It tasted good, despite containing skin, hair and an eyeball. It tasted rather like honey. It had done this to her. Made her a different person. That wizard. All those people who were killed. He had sent her back in time. At that cost. She bit her lip and tasted blood. How had it come to this?

She stopped moving for a moment and looked at the scenery around her. The analyst inside her knew that it had been a foolish decision to run away. The terrain offered nothing in the way of hiding places. In a jungle, perhaps she would have had a better chance at getting away; at least there were more hiding places in that particular terrain. Shivering involuntarily, beneath the tiredness from running and the rush of adrenaline that was starting to wind down, there was the distinct desire to go back. It was purely physical, an annoying urge that pooled within her, creating heat and the distinct desire for touch. It was something that she could not get out of her mind. Revulsion at her own body took root and she felt even more disconnected from it than before. But she was long past hoping that this was some horrid dream that she was going to wake up from or thinking that it was one of the twin's horrible jokes. This was reality. And soon, if not now, one of the most dangerous wizards of history was going to be on her tail because she had escaped from his clutches.

"Where is my invisibility cloak or phoenix when I need them?" She huffed before starting to run again. It killed her legs, but fear fueled her onward. "I don't get fucking dumb luck! I get screwed over! At least Voldemort is cracked in the head; his forefather is completely sane."

Amongst the many desires that Hermione had at the time, one more was added to the pot. The want to just completely say screw it to Trelawney's stupid prophecy and kill Voldemort herself. Screw Harry. Screw dumb luck. Screw the fact that she was a thousand or so years in the past. The thoughts fueled her anger, which fueled her adrenaline, which kept her running. Of course there was also the added benefit of proving once and for all that prophecies were complete crap. Why else had she taken arithmancy?

Of course, there was a downside to these thoughts, they distracted her. For a crucial second she was consumed in her thoughts and in her running and she did not a three red threads trailing behind her. They were catching up. One of them tripped her. At that very moment, it was too late. She was as good as caught and fell to the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt, leaves and needles.

The threads looped around her at an amazing speed. If she had been any other witch, she would have questioned what form of magic this was. But she didn't need to, she knew that it was blood magic cast by a skilled practitioner. If she had noticed them earlier she could have done something about them. That moment was long past however and so there was only one road that a true Gryffindor in her place could take. "Incendio!" She yelled, putting as much force into the spell as she could.

The blood spattered wildly upon the impact of the incendio spell, getting on her clothes, her face, and in her eye. Instinctively she blinked her eye to rid it of the foreign substance, but when she shut it she saw the camp in her mind. Three people were gathered in Salazar's tent: Salazar, Aiden, and the man who had kissed her earlier. To say that Salazar looked angry did not do justice to the look he wore on his face. She was about to open her eyes when Aiden spoke and she heard the words already translated to her.

"OW! She burned my finger!" Aiden shrieked, immediately putting his finger in his mouth. His hands were stained with blood and a rather odd looking dagger rested by his side.

"I don't care about your finger Aiden." Salazar snapped his voice dangerously soft.

"You should. I would care about your finger. "Aiden whined, not seeming to take a hint. "Particularly after I asked you to cast a complicated finding spell that involved blood magic. Feel for me! My finger!"

"I have better things to worry about than your finger. I am going to find this girl. Arcturus, let's go, before my half brother wakes up." Salazar stood up and the man followed suit, Aiden was left in the tent fussing over his burnt finger and clutching the dagger.

The connection ended. The dim hope of him loosing interest in her was completely dashed. She opened the bag, hoping to find something useful. The only things that appeared on the surface of the bag included books, a great deal of salt and chocolate, dresses, and a letter. While all of these things were useful, being that they were luxury items back in the medieval period, they were of no use in the current situation that she was in. Closing the bag in a huff, she changed the direction that she had been running in and hoped that it was enough to throw them off of her path for the time being. She growled to herself, cursing Harry's luck and her own bad luck. For all her intellect, she was only an average chess player, she was shitty at sports, and was horridly out of shape. There was not a single place to hide in this forest and she knew nothing about concealment spells. But to her own eternal credit, she had banked on another year of being able to prepare for the worst. As she was running, legs tiring, the thought passed through her mind that every genius has their own moment of epic fail.

Hers was just going to be more painful than most, she thought as she heard the sound of horses in the background.

She whirled around, pointing her wand at the Salazar Slytherin and in quick succession his friend hoping that the spell would stick, "Occulatermino!"

The spells shot out of her wand and the horses reared, blinding them instead of the intended targets throwing them to the ground instead. Dodging the panicking horses, she yelled "Occulatermino! Petruficus Totalus!" Not caring which one she hit. She was long past trying to use simple stunning spell on these people. "Torqueo!" She screeched at the top of her lungs, putting as much force as she could into the spell.

The blinding hex hit the friend, sending him sprawling to the ground. Salazar effectively caught the spell in the palm of his hand and sent it right back at her. She ducked the spell and screamed, "Occulofundo!"

Salazar smirked at her, dodging the spell with ease and said, "abrogocruris, Crucio!"

The insufferable prat, this wasn't even difficult for him, Hermione thought angrily as she dodged two more crucios. She didn't have time to think, he came after her having the defined advantages of experience and physical strength, "Caecus! Petruficus totalis!"

Of course at this point, running was completely pointless. His friend recovered and silently shot a spell her way, which he was able to dodge, only to be hit physically from Salazar from behind.

"Magna fulgur!" A small bolt of lightening shot out of her wand and hit him squarely on the shoulder. He roared in pain and knocked her off balance, causing her to trip and fall flat on her face. Her wand slipped out of her grasp as she fell to the ground. She desperately reached for it, almost having it in her grasp when Salazar grabbed her wrist and bent it back, breaking it and grabbed the wand. The world seemed to slow as he snapped her wand in half, smiling ever so confidently as he did. He didn't have to say anything for Hermione to know what he thought. This is your real power, without it you are defenseless. He had her successfully pinned to the ground and was mad as hell, no longer the man who had combed and braided her hair not hours ago.

She looked up at him, smiling madly and said in Latin, "perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim."

Be patient and tough, someday this pain will be useful to you, Ovid. The quote was painfully perfect for the situation. Not replying, he grabbed her other arm and broke her other wrist as easily as he had the first one. She bit her lip, drawing blood, willing herself to not scream or cry. To not give him the satisfaction of it. She desperately grasped for the strength in her mind as he broke her wand arm and tried to envision the mental palace she had created to store her memories and tried to flee inside. She had to preserve her mind despite the torture. There was a sticky blackness in the arm and Hermione ran towards it, trying to not see what was being done to her, trying to not feel the bones breaking, trying to not become the opposite what she had tried so hard to become.

Deeper, deeper, her mind beckoned.

If occulmancy could be used to shield the mind from legilimency, why not from pain?

Deeper, deeper, her mind beckoned.

Barely feeling the ribs cracking.

And saw her safety.

There was no ground, it was simply air. Bookcases floated in the air. Pieces of stone spiraled in columns. She ran past them, seeking an area that she had only touched once or twice to develop. Books could be rebound, mazes remade, stones reset she thought as she came to a spiral staircase which seemed to spin as she went up it. If she looked down she could see a girl being tortured, someone was burning her arm, if she listened closely, she could hear a clock ticking the time. She blocked out the sight and the sounds and ran up the staircase, not feeling tired in the very least. Something pulled on her, a notion that she should go back. But she remembered her goal, her mind must survive.

The stair underneath her cracked.

She jumped.

The staircase steps flattened like a slide then scattered like playing cards leaving her one option of continuing the journey upwards, a long staircase, like a lone tower and at the top of the tower, a maiden, a treasure...

_**Paulina.**_

She knew the name. It seemed familiar. She had seen the girl before. Where? When? It seemed an age ago. The Paulina that flashed through her mind looked battered and torn, like a dirty ragdoll. The one that stood before her looked regal, her hair straight and sleek and eyes madly glittering with confidence.

"We're together again," Paulina said, holding her arms out and beckoning Hermione to come sit next to her. The platform seemed to be spinning.

"Together?" She took a step forward and a step back, keeping her eyes squarely on Paulina, but if she looked out of the corner of her eyes she could see the ripped pages of books flying through the air and she could hear the vague sound of a clock ticking in the background.

"Reunited. I was told I was incomplete, that you would make me complete. Likewise with you. But I think that we were separated, that they did it. But they can't undo it now. They can't make us weak again. We are to strong to kill." Paulina continued to beckon her, looking the picture of warmth and kindness. Could Paulina be right? Could she have been incomplete this entire time? Could someone have separated them? It started to make sense in her mind, after all, what is complete and incomplete? She took a step forward.

The look in Paulina's eyes scared her and she ran towards the edges and looked down, bookcases were falling, books unbinding themselves, and a wealth of vines were taking over, but occasionally there was a loud crackling sound, like lightening and some of the vines were cut causing them to spurt blood . "I don't remember... I don't know... I remember building this place. It looks different."

"This is a merger of our minds. Yours is fragile, you have only begun to build it. There has always been both a tower and a longing for flight in my life. A man is trying to get through and break our mind and body." Paulina stood up from her sitting position and made her way towards the place where Hermione stood.

She whirled around and faced Paulina, who was still advancing towards her; she couldn't bring herself to move away, despite how much the girl scared her. It struck her as odd that she was even here. "I came here to escape. I will not let him break us."

"Likewise. We must live. I learned to be a willow tree, a wave, a current of air. You must learn this. Stone is not stable." Paulina was inches away from her and kept her gaze. She couldn't deny that she wanted Paulina to touch her, to embrace her, but there was something that struck her as Paulina reached out to touch her, should she let this happen? "Bodies can be mended. He seeks to hurt, he seeks to love, he seeks to mend, he seeks to break. Much more violent than brother."

"Brother?"

"An evil man. He visits with Father." Paulina pulled her face close, lips barely touching and whispered, "you mustn't be afraid, we were separated at birth, but now we are one again. They muddled with our memories and made us weak. But you must see as I see, feel as I feel, and know as I know to continue here."

There was no resistance left, she leaned into Paulina, letting herself melt in her arms and kissed her. The kiss was rough and filled with need. Her thoughts swirled within her and she felt detached from herself and closer to Paulina. As she closed her eyes she saw the gates open, slow rusty creaking doors and three shadows leapt out from the darkness and entwined themselves around her, around Paulina. She saw, as if looking into a pensieve, things that had been taken away from her and felt like a candle beginning to take form as her eyes were opened to the first memory.

"I am a warrior, warriors don't cry." The boy face was slightly obscured with his bright red hair, which struck her odd; she knew that he usually kept his hair pulled back.

"You are a person, people cry. I won't tell." She sat down next to him, within an arms distance.

The boy looked at her with eyes that were blue like the sea in the midst of a storm and let a single tear drop down his face. Hermione knew that they had met before, that they were friends, that he trusted her, that at least she sensed from the memory, but couldn't grasp when. In the memory, she moved closer to the boy, touching him, tentatively at first, and then after a moment had passed she wrapped her arms around him while he silently cried. There were no words of conciliation, only gestures. All the words had been said by other people and by now they just grated on his ears. No one knew how he felt, she decided, no one but he knew. Eventually the boy pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair; she could feel his tears on her neck, feel his hot breathe. The memory was so vivid, so undeniably real. It gave her chills to look at it and she turned away, unwilling to watch what happened next.

The second shadow danced around her and Paulina, with a vicious mocking smile. She paid it little heed and wrapped her fingers in Paulina hair, forcing her to be closer, needing her to be closer, closer. Paulina was willing, complying, and the shadow with its vicious mocking smile wound itself around them, contributing and interfering. The memory danced between her eyes, stabbing and cutting, yet she hungered for more of it.

A boy was on top of her, gripping her limbs, and leaving bruises. The boy looked just like her: black hair and violet eyes. His presence left her feeling cold. She felt the deep desire to kill him, but he had her pinned to the bed, her limbs felt weak and creaky, he was strong and well fed. The room around her was deathly cold, unlit by a fire or the sun. The boy stared at her, daring her to try something, but she lay still. If you are quiet and let the bullies to their work, then they will get no pleasure out of it. They will leave you alone. It seemed though, that this particular boy was determined to beat her. He started with a bit of hesitation but then got into it, even though she did not scream.

"Why! Why are you so weak! I hate you! Hate you! You were supposed to be inside of me! You're the reason I don't have any magic. It's your fault!" He screamed.

The key to dealing with it was to pretend it wasn't happening. Pretend that the flows didn't hurt. Pretend like the words weren't being said. Let your body be healed and warmed by your hatred of the other person. Inside she felt fire, magic burning within her and knew that no matter how many blows were dealt to her, no matter how many words were spoken to her, that she would no break and die by his hand. She smiled, causing him to scream in frustration and hit her even harder. But she didn't feel it at all.

The third memory was slow to emerge and oozed like honey. It was a shy memory. It was a sweet memory. It was eager for her. It was hesitant. But she was eager to know, to be whole again and pulled the memory close and it wound itself around her. She was thoroughly intertwined in her hair, Paulina's hair, and the memory.

The Yule Ball had been a complete disaster. Ron. Harry. All that work she had gone to with her dress, her hair, everything. Ruined. Why did they have to act like that? Why couldn't they accept that Victor had asked her? That he was a nice guy? Victor had been so nice to her. But he, he just wasn't enough. She wanted Ron; she loved his red hair and his blue eyes. Despite the fact that he was a prat those two things about him just drew her in and made her want him. She couldn't bring herself to stay in the castle, she ran outside, even though her shoes hurt her feet and it was snowing. She needed to get away from everyone after what happened. Eventually she had to stop running and too shelter underneath a tree, continuing to cry. She was so understanding to them, why couldn't they reciprocate?

"Who's there?" A voice called.

She turned around to face a man, about three or so years older than she was. He had bright red hair and storm colored eyes. He seemed shocked to see her, as she was him. Somehow, she knew that they had met before and had promised mutual honesty and equality between them. He didn't open up to many people, but she had won his trust. A pang of shame stabbed her; she hadn't wanted to meet him like this, crying. The thought made her cry even more. Slowly he approached her and put his hand on her shoulder, his hands were large and calloused but his fingers were long and tapered, like a woman's.

"Why are you here? What happened? Why are you crying?" He asked softly.

She could barely manage to get the word, "Ball," out.

He shook his head knowingly and said, "No need to force yourself, I hate social gatherings."

She looked at him, looking for comfort, finding it easily within his eyes and leaned in closer to him. He took her hand and started to lead her away from the tree, the thought briefly passed through her mind that she should be going back to school and not going with him, but she didn't want to go back to school. He took his cloak off and gave it to her, which she accepted gratefully; Harry and Ron had their many moments of being irresponsible and tonight she would have hers and grasped his hand tighter, letting him lead her away. Eventually she couldn't keep up, her shoes hurt her feet to much, and she really should have found a pair of flats that suited the occasion. He didn't say anything, the silence between them was magical almost, and all she needed was him there to reassure her. Words weren't needed between them and when she started to slow down he just picked her up and carried her.

"We're almost there," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and saw sky filtered through the trees. Light was beginning to paint the sky and she tried to sit up, it was then that she noticed the pain. 'You must inhabit the body, for if you do not then it will not live. I will disturb the horse,' Paulina whispered from within. She nodded in response and winced at the pain. But she was careful and did not cry or say a word. Instead she just glared at them, Salazar and his friend Arcturus. Salazar looked as angry as before , possibly even more so since he hadn't gotten any pleasure from the torture he had inflicted on her. Freedom was in inherent right and he had no right to bind her, yet she had no strength to run. She stood up, shakily and willed herself to stand straight, to stand tall.

"Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim." She said, willing her voice to be steady.

Be patient and tough, someday this pain will be useful to you.

* * *

Merlin stood in the forest, right next to a purple beaded bag that was on the ground. There were a few stains of blood on the bag. He had watched the struggle, flew along side Hermione as she had ran threw the forest, foolishly trying to escape. Three cracked ribs, two broken wrists and an arm. Incendio to the left arm. Crucio five times. A full day of not being healed, astride a horse. Salazar was bound to make the ride rough just for her benefit. In a way, he was proud of her. She had withstood those curses with grace, not crying and once she dissociated, not screaming. He hoped that she wouldn't try to escape again, but logic said that she would. With that thought, he picked up the bag and put the pieces of the broken wand inside of it, heading towards Hermione. She would need it.

* * *

**A/N - I want to try my best to keep this story up to everyone expectations ESPECIALLY my own. Hehe. I was reading about the founders in whatever I could find in the internet and there isn't that much information about them. So I took the liberty to make our dear Salazar Slytherin a rude Scot.**

**Plus, Once again I thank Autumn Ivy's for her brilliant ideas for the plot and her wonderful editing. I love you Mary! **

**So please if you find the time to make US smile, please do review!**

- Autumn Ivy's note to readers - I strongly recommend you go and look up the music I used to write this chapter. It really helps capture the feeling that I was going for in the particular scene. Also, I feel the need to say this since writing Salazar's views of slavery brings a bad taste to my mouth (brain bleach!), they are not my own views. I am simply writing the character. He is simply a man of the time.

**Spell List -**

_Torqueo_ - to twist

_Occulofundo_ - melt eyeballs

_abrogocruris_ - remove leg

_caecus_ - blind

_Occulatermino_ - eye close

**Phrase list**

_Non refert_ - It matters not

_Veni mecum_ - Come with me

_Ut ignis_ - You have fire

_Sic enim habes quod meum est conatus raptus_ - That is what you get for attempting to rape what is mine

_Illa mulier est alterius generis, non refert quid_ - She is just a woman from another family, it doesn't matter what I do

_Haec est mea et Gryffindor captivum te exspectant, non minus_ - She is a Gryffindor and she is my captive, you should expect no less

_delectari in_- take pleasure in her

**Play list -**

_Swallow_ - Oyster Mix

_Emilie Autumn_ - Dissociation scene.

_Desolation_ -

From the Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Soundtrack #2 (The Duel with Salazar)

_Caras Galadhon_

Lord of the Rings - Fellowship of the Ring -Extended Version - (Conversation with Merlin the Bird)

Pact Sworn in Blood (Hermione - death of Dougal and getting carried off by Salazar)

_Godfrey -_

Robin Hood soundtrack (Salazar's theme - note: these songs are not available for mp3 download on Amazon. I do not know why. You will have to buy the cd in order to hear the theme or listen to it on youtube, if it is there, either way, is very good.)

_Saladin -_

Kingdom of Heaven Soundtrack (Translation scene and discussion between Salazar and Cormag)

_Fantasia on Theme -_

Master and Commander Soundtrack (The ride with Salazar + sensuous hairbrushing scene)

_The Angel_

Lust and Caution Soundtrack (hair-brushing scene)

_Data, Data, Data_

He Killed the Dog Again

Sherlock Holmes Soundtrack - Wormtail torture scene

_Dumbledore's Speech -_

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince Soundtrack (Come with me, Ven conmigo scene)


End file.
